


I've measured out my life with coffee spoons

by mimosa (Error305_Proxy)



Series: I've measured out my life with coffee spoons [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Error305_Proxy/pseuds/mimosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Q opens a cafe across the street from MI6 headquarters, and James Bond is intrigued. (only semi-AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A new shop has opened

A new shop has opened across the street from MI6 headquarters.

  
James notices the shop as he’s driving into the parking lot. Of course he notices, he notices everything. He’s seen the renovation team come and go for the last couple of weeks, and has been expecting the place to open for a couple of days now. The previous store had been a pizza shop. Not that there was anything wrong with pizza, but the store served by-the-slice greasy and cold pizza at inexcusable prices, and everyone from MI6 had learned early on not to frequent the place.

Bond parks his car and decides he has time to spare before meeting M. After all, it is James Bond’s job to know things, to know his surroundings and the people that he has cause to interact with. A shop that opens across the street from Britain’s intelligence office certainly warrants some inspection.

The sign is simple, and James has trouble deciding if it’s elegant or tacky. It’s a simple square sign that hangs on top of the door, the background is white, and on the forefront in black is the design Q subscript 10, in the style of a scrabble tile. There are no signals that it is the grand opening of the shop, no indications of celebration of store-opening, no “Hiring” sign that usually comes with a new storefront, there are actually no signs that the store is recently renovated, for everything seems to be perfectly pristine and in place. (So far as James can tell from glancing through the window)

He pushes open the door, there is no bell jingle to accompany his entrance, and James wonders if the owner, who has obviously meticulously decorated the place, has forgotten to hang a bell on top of the door.

“Hello, how can I help you?” If the soft voice and the somewhat posh accent surprise James, he does not let it show.

“In a number of ways, I’m sure.” James replies, allowing a hint of honey to his voice.

“Coffee perhaps?” The young man behind the counter either does not hear the innuendo, or chooses to not acknowledge it at all. “I’m guessing dark roast, black.”

“And something to eat if you have it.” Bond nods, and perhaps a little belatedly realizes that he is in fact standing inside a café. He had been distracted by the man with his incredibly messy hair and lanky frame and atrocious cardigan. The thought hits him like a train at that moment, that if somebody had wanted to kill him a moment ago, when his attention was completely focused on the man behind the counter, they could have easily done so.

A chill passes James then, a sense of uneasiness that he has not felt since first meeting Vesper. It comes with a knowledge that the person will somehow be influential in his life, somehow extremely dangerous for him, yet the feeling that he could not quite step away.

The boy (James refuses to think of him as a man, he is far too young) has disappeared into what James can only assume to be the back kitchen, he can vaguely hear the sounds of things being shuffled. There’s a steaming mug left next to the register, a white porcelain mug that has the same sign as the one outside for the store. James walks closer and the familiar smell of Earl Grey assaults his nose.

“Blueberry oat bran muffin, black coffee.” The boy comes back with a wax-paper bag and a cup of coffee. The cup is white, has no design on it whatsoever, the paper bag has the same scrabble symbol as the one on the store’s sign.

“You’re in a coffee shop yet you don’t drink coffee.” James states and gives the mug a pointed look.

“I prefer tea.” The boy states, “and this is a café.”

“Yes of course.” James curbs the urge to roll his eyes as he reaches for his wallet. “Where’s the owner, opening day is a big day, no?”

“I am the owner.” If the slight bothers the boy, it does not show on his face, and James briefly wonders if he is simply very good at hiding his expressions. The boy proceeds to wave dismissively towards James’s wallet, “You’re my first customer, it’s on the house.”

“Not a very good business model if you’re planning on giving everything away.” James can’t help but quip as he reaches for the muffin and coffee, letting his fingers brush against the boy’s long, elegant ones (James will concede that the boy’s fingers are elegant, even if he has decided that the store sign is not).

“Only because you’re my first.” The boy gives an infuriating smirk that James instantly decides he would like to see more. There is no blush that accompanies those words, yet the glint in the boy’s eyes shows clearly that he knew exactly what he was saying.

“In that case, the name’s Bond, James Bond.” James takes a sip of his coffee casually and decides that he will indeed be coming back to the shop. The coffee is exponentially better than the brew from MI6’s break room. The coffee is nearly orgasmic. “And I think I deserve to know yours.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary, Mr. Bond, I’m sure your office has a file on me already.” The boy gives another little smirk, like he knows something that Bond doesn’t. “Good day, Mr. Bond.”

James nods once before turning to walk out of the café (there’s no better word for what the shop is), but turns back once he’s reached the door. The boy is still standing at the counter looking at James.

“Good day, Q.” James smirks at the slight widening of the boy’s eyes, and pushes the door to leave the café.

He finishes the coffee much too quickly, but gives the muffin to Moneypenny as a sign of goodwill when she berates him for not filling out the proper paperwork for his last mission. She stops as soon as she bites into the muffin though, and declares it the best one she’s ever had, and then dismisses James summarily with a wave of her hand.

It’s not like James Bond needs to add any more things on the list of reasons of why he will visit Q again (James is certain the café is named Q and not Q10 or Q’s coffee. Just Q, much like the name James has assigned the boy behind the counter), but he must concede that getting Moneypenny off his back will be a good thing.


	2. Lunch

In the end Bond has to curb the urge to go back to the coffee shop (a voice that sounds suspiciously like Q’s corrects him in his head, it’s a café, not a coffee shop) before lunch. He does not, however, hesitate to return when the clock hits 11:30am, a rather respectable hour for lunch.

“Back so soon.” Q steps out from the kitchen just as James enters the café, and Bond has to wonder if there are cameras somewhere near the door (There aren’t, he checked). There is still no bell, and he can come up with no other explanation as to why Q seems to know whenever he steps in the door (James was, after all, quite proud of his ability to enter rooms silently without detection).

“Not doing so well?” James raises an eyebrow at the empty tables. There is no one else other than himself and Q in the café, “Am I to be your first and second?”

“Hardly.” Q nods towards one of the tables (James doesn’t really know which one, but it hardly matters, they’re all empty), “I trust you have time to actually sit down for lunch.”

It was less of a question and more of a command, which James obeys in good grace. He chooses a seat that allows him direct visual access to Q and the counter, one that also allows him a peripheral vision of the door and the windows as well.

“Haven’t had time to print out menus?” James knows as soon as he asks that this is not true, someone like Q (granted, he doesn’t really know what Q is like, but he can venture a guess) would not run out of time for things. It just simply cannot be.

“No need for menus.” Q saunters over (there are no other way that James can describe the way he walks) and places a cup of tea on the table in front of James.

“Then how will I know what I want?” James spares the cup a glance; it smells like earl grey again, but somehow different from the Twinings bags that are stashed in the MI6 break room.

“You don’t have to.” If anything, Q’s smirk becomes all the more infuriating. “I know exactly what you want.” Q walks back to the kitchen without another glance, leaving James with a cup of tea that smells like earl grey (but isn’t, there is something added to the blend, probably. James doesn’t really know enough about tea to tell). James sits there for a second before standing up and following Q into the kitchen.

“How do you expect to sustain a business with just one client?” James asks from the door of the kitchen. Q is turned away from him, working over a surprisingly well stocked kitchen counter that far exceeds the expectations of a standard café (not that James knows anything about what a standard kitchen of a café looks like, but has enough sense to know when a kitchen is well furnished and when it is sparse).

“I have more than one client.” Q says without turning around. James wishes he could see Q’s face then, because from voice alone there is no way to tell what his reception in the kitchen is. “And you should not be back here.”

“Technically, I’m not in the kitchen.” James states. It is true, he is leaning on the doorway behind the counter, just shy of actually entering the kitchen itself. “And you can’t expect your only patron to sit by himself. What if he gets bored and walks out?”

“I would expect him to be able to entertain himself.” Q turns around and flashes James a look.

Bond actually pauses his thoughts in that moment. Something he has not done in a very long time. His brain shifts gears completely and starts working at full speed to figure out what Q’s look means. It is part flirtatious, part amusement, definitely part teasing. Was there an ounce of annoyance in there? Or perhaps it was simply exasperation? Bond prides himself on being able to read people, their facial expressions (the ones that are shown and the ones that they try to hide), but for some reason he has trouble placing Q.

“Your lunch is ready.” Q says, turning around and effectively blocking the view of James’s food with his body. “If you will kindly return to your seat, I will serve you.”

“Of course you will.” James allows his voice to drop several scales lower than his normal seduction tone, “I’ll look forward to it.”

Again, no reaction from Q.

James’s lunch consists of a creamy tomato soup, an excellent sandwich with multi-grain bread (James is glad that Q didn’t know his dislike of wholegrain and preference for multigrain, and for a brief moment he wonders if the boy is psychic, but decides against it) and some combination of turkey, cheese, tomato and spinach (again James wonders at the lack of lettuce and the appearance of spinach, exactly as he likes it). It is delicious and much too satisfying, which leads to James starting to consider making this café his regular lunch spot (for the days that he’s actually in London, which is not very many).

Nobody comes in during the half hour that James is having lunch, he can hear Q typing at the counter, occasionally looking up from his laptop to stare out the window, but otherwise they stay silent.

“I’ll refer this place to my colleagues.” James says as he finishes the last bite of his sandwich (he did not wolf it down, James Bond does not wolf down food). “You make excellent food.”

“Thank you.” Q acknowledges the compliment with a small smile, “But I’m doing just fine for business.”

“I have not seen anybody walk in since I’ve been here.” James points out.

James starts to seriously reconsider the psychic theory when two groups of people enter just as he finishes his sentence. Q flashes him a smile before greeting the two groups, showing them to their tables.

James recognizes one of the group as interns from Q branch, and the other as people who work in medical. Then, as if the flood gate has opened, people start streaming in. James blinks when nobody actually orders anything, and Q simply starts bringing out plate after plate of food.

James is about to ask for the check when Q sets it down in front of him. “Do you magically know everyone’s order?” James asks as he reaches for his wallet, “And here I was thinking I’m special.”

“Yes, magically.” Q nods, “There’s such a thing called the Internet, Mr. Bond. It is quite magical. People can place food orders on it ahead of time and won’t have to wait for their food to get ready.”

“So I am special.” James flashes Q his most charming smile (the one that saves for people he genuinely likes, not the ones that he pretends to like in order to have sex with). “Lovely.”

“Quite special.” Q touches Bond’s shoulder briefly before he turns and leaves to tend to Tanner, who has walked in and apparently is picking up food to go, as Q fetches a packed paper bag from the kitchen.

James takes another moment to give Q (who is taking Tanner’s credit card and it’s such a mundane action that it really shouldn't be graceful but it somehow is) a lingering look, then stands and leaves. He nods to a young man sitting by the door who tended to his bullet wound a week ago, and winks at a young woman from Q branch on his way out whose friends immediately starts giggling.

As he crosses the street he remembers the study that he was told about years ago (by a girl in a bar trying to sound smart but turned out to be extremely dull), that men on average tip 10% more if the waitress touches the man as she is giving him the bill. He scoffs at the idea, and reasons that the tip that he leaves (which is three times the amount of on his bill) is only to make up for the coffee and muffin from earlier in the day and not because of the touch that he can still feel faintly on his shoulder.


	3. El Toro

During the next week (James doesn’t know if all the terrorists have decided to go on holiday or what, but he miraculously gets a week of quiet) the café across the street from MI6 becomes James’s lunch spot. Tanner and Moneypenny both know now where to find him if he’s not in the gyms at MI6 or lurking around sniffing after missions.

Bond hears all about the miracle café that allows online ordering. Orders are received before 10am and will be ready for pick up starting at noon. In the mornings one can get the best coffee in the world and whatever the owner has baked for the day for a more than reasonable price.

  
There are no options of fancy lattes or mochas, just coffee, with whatever splash of milk, soy, cream that one can want. But no sugar, there is never any sweetener added to the coffee.  
Bond never places his orders online, and always goes in at 11:30 before anybody is allowed to pick up their orders. Q never complains, and always has something delicious waiting for him. Bond continues to tip more than the total of his bill, Q never brings it up (there are no more touches, but Bond does seem to receive more smirks and eye rolls than anybody else who comes in to the place, and he considers that a success. Though he doesn’t really know what his success is in).

Bond goes back the one morning, but only after his early meeting with M. He is assigned a mission in Dubai, and his flight is in the early afternoon. He gets outfitted by Q branch, and has the rest of the morning to prepare for his mission.

James deems receiving caffeine an integral part of his preparation.

“Coffee.” He says even though it’s completely unnecessary.

“You’re late.” Q says as he hands James a cup of coffee.

“This is cold.” James frowns as his hand takes the cup. “And I wasn’t aware that we had an appointment.”

“You have came in here at 7am for the past week. Not a minute off the clock.” Q sniffs as if he’s been gravely offended, “Then once more at 11:30am, always prompt. You’re late and that’s your coffee.”

“I’m leaving.” James says. He had meant to say “I want a fresh cup” or “I’m pleased you noticed my timing”, or even “It’s not my fault, M called a meeting.” But he doesn’t and he tells Q he’s leaving, almost apologetically.

“Good for you.” Q shoots James a look, and Bond files it for further analysis later.

“No, I meant, I’m not leaving here.” Somewhere in the back of his mind James knows that he has ceased to make sense, and briefly wonders if this is what he sounded like that one time when he was 12 trying to talk to a girl who was in her second year at Oxford. “I’m leaving London.”

Q opens his mouth to say something (snarky, undoubtedly), but stops himself before any sound escapes. He stands behind the counter decidedly not making eye contact with James, and starts to chew on his bottom lip.

“Just briefly. Shouldn’t be more than a couple weeks.” James adds. He doesn’t really know why he’s telling Q this. Perhaps he thought the young man would be worried. It’s not like the café won’t survive without his business.

“Well then…” Q nods, as if approving James’s leave. “I think the café will survive without your business for a couple of weeks.”

“I don’t doubt it.” James nods as he sips on cold coffee. Even cold the coffee beats some of the brews that James has had in the past. “Don’t miss me too much.” James can’t help but add as he turns to leave.

“Do try and come back safe.” Q says in a dry voice behind the counter. James’s head whips back to look at the young man (James has stopped himself from referring to him as a boy, it’s progress).

“It’s not meant to be a dangerous…trip.” James says, letting the last word roll off his tongue. He has to actively remind himself that the mission is classified information and he can’t tell Q about it. But he does briefly wonder if Q doesn’t ask for details because the young man simply does not care, or because he knows it’s classified as well.

“I suppose that’s about as much as you can tell me.” Q says with a smile that almost seems sad.

“I’ll…” James pauses, because honestly he doesn’t know what he will do or what he meant to say, “I’ll fill you in about it when I come back.” He finally says lamely. Suppose after the mission is completed, he can at least talk about where he was, and some of the more quotidian things if nothing else.

“Then make sure you come back.” Q says, and nods towards James, which the agent takes as a signal for the end of their conversation.

The mission if fine, and James was right when he said it’s not meant to be dangerous. He comes away with a few scraps and cuts, but no wounds that is in danger of bleeding on anything profusely. MI6 puts him on a flight so that he can be at headquarters by 6pm, before everyone leaves to go home.

James’s first stop after the airport is the café. He has not had a decent cup of coffee in 18 days, and he reasons that M will want an alert agent at the debrief, and it’s all for the good of MI6.  
He doesn’t take into consideration that the café may be closed. The doors and locked and the lights are dimmed and James feels a strange sense of disappointment, he hadn’t realized he had been looking forward to seeing Q again.

James is about to try the door one more time in case he didn’t push hard enough the first time when Q walks out from the kitchen with an annoyed look on his face. James raises a hand in salute, and then points to the locked door.

“We’re closed.” Q says as he unlocks the door and lets James in.

“Not going out of business already, surely?” James is glad to step inside. There’s soft piano music coming from the kitchen that he’s never heard before, and the place smells faintly of coffee and food and familiarity.

“It’s called normal business hours.” Q huffs, “I see you made it back in one piece. I was starting to wonder.”

“I have something for you.” James says with a smirk, he reaches into his pockets and takes out a little wooden figurine of a Spanish fighting bull. He had picked it up from a street vendor on a whim and has had it in his pockets for the entire mission. He hadn’t known why he bought it at the time, it’s not like anyone in the office expects a souvenir, and he’s been in Spain enough times that it no longer holds any attraction. But now at the current moment, it seems perfect as a gift for Q. James wonders if his subconscious had known before his brain actually realized that was why he had bought the little thing.

“And what am I supposed to do with that?” Q raises an eyebrow skeptically. He does not take it from James’s hand.

“Put it somewhere, I suppose.” James shrugs, and suddenly feels awkward in the way that only Q can make him feel. His hand is still half outstretched, offering the figurine that Q is not going to take but too proud to simply take it back. “It’s small, you can put it anywhere really.”

James’s hand remain hanging in the air for another 10 seconds, and just as he is pulling it back to put the little bull in his pockets again, Q reaches and grabs it from his hands.

“I’ll find somewhere for it, I suppose.”Q says, and funs his fingers over the bull’s back. It is small enough to fit into the palm of his hand.

“I suppose coffee is out of the question.” James raises an eyebrow, and softly lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

“Come back tomorrow morning.” Q smiles, “But here, have these.”

James goes in MI6 with an undeniable spring in his step that he attributes to the chocolate-covered coffee beans that Q gives him. And if Moneypenny complains that him being late is the reason that she’s staying past her hours and if Tanner gives him more annoyed looks than usual, he pretends not to notice.

James receives the next two days off, and so technically has no reason to be anywhere near MI6 headquarters, but he walks in to the café at 7am anyway, and smiles when he sees a the little figurine standing just next to the case register on the counter.

“Coffee.” Q hands him a steaming cup. “On the house.”

“You’re never going to make any money if you keep giving things away.” James takes it anyway, but puts a ten in the tip jar.

Q snorts and rolls his eyes, “I’ll do what I want with my coffee.”

“I have nowhere to be today.” James says suddenly. He doesn’t know why he says that, it sounds pitiful even to his own ears.

“And that’s my problem because?” Q raises an eyebrow at James.

“It’s not,” James sys, “I was just talking out loud, I suppose.”

“The first sign of madness.” Q smiles, “Or old age. Take your pick.”

“I have some paperwork I need to do.” James ignores the last comment completely.

“If that’s your way of asking if you can linger in my café and do work,” Q sighs in exasperation, “The answer is yes.”

Tanner and Moneypenny both say hi when they see James in the café later in the day. Moneypenny reminds him to fill out form EI-443b instead of the one he is currently working on, as the regulations for reporting missing weapons. Tanner tells him his leave is extended to 4 days as 009 finished his mission early and MI6 now has an agent to spare.

For once James is fine with not being thrown into the field as soon as his mission ends. He enjoys the quiet company of Q. They talk as James works on his paper work (nothing very high up the clearance status of course, he’s not stupid), Q spends most of the morning in the kitchen, so James picks the table closest to the kitchen and sits for once with his back to the door so his voice can reach the kitchen when he makes conversation with Q.

Q provides James with coffee, and his special blend of tea that has a smoky taste which ends up reminding James of single malt whiskey and cigars. Q gives James lunch at 11:40, and also various pastries throughout the afternoon.

“I’m experimenting with the recipes.” Q states as he drops off yet another bite-size square of cheesecake, “You can tell me if they’re atrocious.”

“They’ve all been alright so far.” James lies. They’ve been heavenly, James is sure he has not tasted anything close to being that delicious in any of the 5-star restaurants. “Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks.” Q says dryly and returns to the kitchen, and James returns to his paperwork.


	4. the luckiest cufflinks

James spends the majority of his break in the café across the street from MI6. Tanner accuses him of being a workaholic, Moneypenny just smiles mysteriously and winks at him whenever she sees him in the café. When he goes back to work he is immediately assigned a mission. James reads over the briefing while standing in M's office and wonders if the mission was meant to make up for the days he spent in a café trying to act like a normal person.The mission is dangerous, even M acknowledges that. Tanner pats him on the back as James is leaving, and Moneypenny gives him kiss on the cheek.

James goes to Q before he leaves for the airport.

“Leaving again?” Q steps out of the kitchen when James steps into the café.

“For a bit.” James nods, “coffee to send me off?”

“No, you’ve had your morning cup already. No more.” Q shoves something into James’s hand even as he rejects James’s request for coffee, “Take these instead.”

“Cufflinks.” James opens his palms to see a pair of cufflinks. They’re quite ordinary, not something that James would have picked up for himself, but definitely goes with his usual wardrobe. No markings to show what brand they are, but James can’t deny the pair is very simple but elegant.

“Wear them. They’ll keep you safe.” Q says, and turns to type something up on his laptop.

“Charmed, are they?” James smirks, but puts them on nonetheless. “Have you kissed them to make them magical?”

“Something like that.” Q watches as James secures the cufflinks, “Keep them on you. But remember I want them back when you come back.”

“I thought you’re gifting these to me.” James frowns. “I have to give back my gift?”

“Consider them to be on loan. You better come back with them.” Q says, and it’s not James’s fault that he only hears “you better come back” because James is sure that Q’s voice trails into a low murmur by the end of the sentence.

“I will.” James nods, and it is the first time he’s promised that to anyone. James knows he can’t promise a return. He knows that his life isn’t his own when he’s on missions. In fact, his life is rarely his own, it belongs to Britain, belongs to the Queen. But for once James wants to be selfish, and he wants to come back to Q’s witty comments, to orgasmic coffee and always perfect lunches without him having to order anything. James wants to come back. He makes up his mind right then and there to do whatever needs to be done to come back to London, to MI6, to Q.

“Good.” Q nods and flashes James a smile. A genuine smile that steels James’s mind even more.

James ends up making it through the mission on pure luck with fewer wounds than he had anticipated for.

It starts with a door that slides open easily when the pre-mission briefing assured him many times over would be locked with the most advanced digital code randomly generated every 30 seconds. MI6 had allowed James to use explosives, which gives him 2 minutes before the places swarms with guards.

The door slides open when James walks up to it, and James walks in even though he suspects it’s a trap. It wasn’t a trap.

Then there’s a light that turns off unexpectedly, some incredible traffic conditions that work in James’s favor during a chase through Rome. He sends an email once his objective is complete, and receives confirmation from M that there is indeed a flight ready to take him home to London. James starts believing that the cufflinks are in fact, charmed.

“Are you a wizard then?” James asks when he walks (limps) into the café 8 days after he walked out. “These really are lucky cufflinks.” He gets to the café at 6:30pm, but the door is still unlocked. Q is sitting at one of the tables instead of in the kitchen or behind the counter like he usually is. He’s typing furiously on a laptop fancier than any other James has seen.

“The luckiest.” Q nods and takes the cufflinks back and inspects them as if looking for scratches.

“I’ve taken better care of them than the…” James stops himself before he can say than the guns. “Than the majority of my own things I bring on trips.”

“Comforting.” Q puts the cufflinks into a little box that he pulls out from under the drawer. “Go away now, we’re closing soon.”

“See you tomorrow.” James nods and walks across the street to report back to MI6, but not before leaving a hand-painted miniature of the Colosseum on the counter for Q.

“You’re back.” Tanner looks honestly surprised to see him when James walks in. “You’re…you’re alive.”

“Were you expecting otherwise?” James smiles, “You booked my ticket back, getting forgetful in your old age, Tanner?”

“You…” Tanner looks flabbergasted, then suddenly frowns, “Your surveillance was cut as 2 days after your plane landed. We thought you…”

“Tanner,” James suddenly feels a sense of dread, his stomach drops as if he’s swallowed a stone, “I’ve been receiving emails with instructions and information updates daily. They’ve been sent from M’s account.”

When he landed in Rome James had ran his usual bug test, and nothing came up. Given the sensitivity of the mission, he had requested Q branch run another test, and received confirmation that there was nothing within a 50-meter radius of him conducting surveillence other than his standard issue ear piece and the hotel camera in the hallway outside his suite. That can only mean that his channel through to MI6 itself had been hacked.

If his mission had been compromised, there’s no telling that the data he retrieved was useful at all. But that was the least of James’s concerns. If M’s account in MI6 has been hacked… James gets flashbacks to the whole Silva debacle, and the hair at the back of his neck stands up.

Tanner’s face loses all colour, his lips tighten and his hands clench into fists, “I think M would want to see you now.” “Yes,” James nods and follows Tanner towards M’s office. “I think that would be best.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Let me tell you a story

“You’ve received information from me. Did you not think that it’s strange that I would be giving you information directly?” M asks after Tanner explains all that’s happened. “Where is the data you retrieved?”

“Already at Q branch. They’re trying to determine if it’s corrupted.” Tanner answers before James can say anything. “We should be hearing back from them soon.”

“The intelligence I received was good.”James says, and indeed it had been, he would not have been able to get through the mission if not for some of the updated information he had received on his target and the target’s security detail. “If it was meant to hurt me, they failed pretty spectacularly.”

“If they corrupted the data to mislead MI6 into the complete wrong direction, then I’d say they succeeded.” M throws James an annoyed look, “You should have checked in when you got the first email.”

“Maybe you should hire competent people in Q branch to make sure your email doesn’t get hacked.” James spits out. They had already gotten Q branch to run the necessary tests that determined M’s accounts were safe and unhacked (which is obviously the wrong conclusion, and just proves that whoever did hack M’s account is running circles around the tech staff at MI6). 

“Did you received anything recently? Any new friends? A new gift, new lover perhaps?” M just sighs. He knows they need a better Q branch. Everyone at MI6 knows that their tech is outdated compared to some of the things that the cyber terrorists use. For goodness sake, the things they had gotten from Silva had actually been a significant update from MI6’s old standards.

“No, none of that.” James’s mind goes immediately to the cufflinks and to Q. But that situation James can handle personally. No need to get MI6 involved in his business.

“Sir, the data report.” A knock at the door and Moneypenny comes in holding a sealed file.   
M opens the file and glances at the papers. James feels a sense of dread starting to spread when M starts frowning and scratching his nose absent-mindedly, which James knows to be a sign that he is aggravated (The new M is much easier to read than the old one, and James makes a mental note to tell him that when he’s in a better mood).

“Well, the data seems fine.” M says, and puts the report down. “Q branch couldn’t find anything wrong with it. And it was exactly what we wanted.”

“So there’s no problem.” James knows that this is not true, but there is nothing MI6 can do, at least for now.

“There still remains the mystery of who sent you the intelligence. We like to identify our friends and allies.” M regards James for a good minute before speaking again, “Let us know if you can think of anyone who may have had a hand in this.”

“Of course.” James nods. 

“You’re on leave for the next two days, but do be ready, you may be called in if we find any more leads.” M gives James a small smile, “Welcome back, 007. Good job in Rome.”

“Good day.” James nods once to Tanner and once to M. On his way out he gives Moneypenny a wink that she returns with a somewhat indulgent smile. On any other day he would have stayed to chat with her, but this particular evening he has a place that he needs to be.

Q is exactly where James left him, still typing on the laptop. He doesn’t look up when James enters, nor when James walks up to him.

“Still here? I thought you were closing.” James says as he sits down across from Q, who is obviously startled by the appearance of the agent.

“I thought you left.” Q sits up straight in his seat and blinks, and James realizes that this is possibility the first time he’s been able to surprise the young man.

“I would have, but…” James searches for the proper words, “there’s trouble at work.”

“How unfortunate.” Q look down at his laptop. His hands are poised on the keys, but doesn’t type anything. He starts frowning at the screens.

“What do you do on your laptop?” James asks, he’s dancing around the real question that he wants to ask, he knows that. He has never felt so unprepared in all his adult life. “Do you blog? You type a lot.”

“What are you asking, James?” Q gives him a smile that was half resignation and half…something that James can’t quite place. 

“I’m asking if you…” James drums his fingers on the table. He catches himself tapping the letter ‘Q’ over and over again in Morse code on the table and pulls his hands so they are resting in his lap. “if we could have dinner?”

“We’re closed.” Q says, and nods towards the darkened kitchen, “As you see, kitchen is shut down.”

“No, not here. ” James sighs, “I mean if you’d like to have dinner with me. At a restaurant, not this one. I would take you out somewhere nice.”

“Somewhere nice?” Q raises an eyebrow, the look is gone and is now replaced with an expression of pure suspicion. 

“Not that your café isn’t nice.” James wonders if he had maybe left all his charm in Rome, “I just meant, we could go somewhere else, and I would buy you dinner.”

“Why?” Q’s eyes narrow, but looks rather confused. “That’s not…was that really what you wanted to ask?”

“Yes.” James nods, “Because I enjoy your company and I want to take you out to dinner.”

“Where?” Q asks. He looks slightly less suspicious, and a little bit more interested.

“La Galleria.” James says the first restaurant that he thinks of. He doesn’t remember where he knows the name from, or why he picks a restaurant he has never been to.

Q snorts, “La Galleria is booked solid for the next year. Good try James.” Q does, however, give James a smile that was not all pity, “How about BierBarr? I think we can get in there if you tip the maitre d’.”

“Yes. That sounds wonderful.” James nods. He’s been to the BierBarr, he actually likes the BierBarr. “I’ll pull up the car if you want to meet me outside in five?”

Q nods and begins the process of shutting down his laptop. James leaves the café and calls the restaurant as he’s walking towards his car in the MI6 parking lot. There are perks of being James Bond, and one of them is that all the top restaurants in London knows him by name. He gets a table for two and a promise that the table is indeed in a quiet area of the restaurant where they will not be disturbed.

If Q is impressed that they are seated immediately he doesn’t comment on it. Q decides on ordering the special with the soup of the day (smoked salmon burger with a side of arugula salad and tomato basil soup) after glancing through the menu, James orders a medium rare steak and tells the waiter not to bother with the side salad.

“Tell me about yourself.” James says as the waiter leaves, “You own a café”

“I do.” Q smiles, and shakes his head a little like he can’t quite believe the situation he is in right now. “A degree in English literature doesn’t really come with an overwhelming number of career opportunities after graduation.”

“You have a degree in English?” James is truly surprised by this, and marvels at just how much off he was in reading Q.

“From UCL. Yes” Q smiles a little wistfully, “Are you fond of literature, Mr. Bond?”

“I suppose it serves a purpose.” James is fond of literature, but he hasn’t had time to read in a while. “But I thought you would have studied a more…technical, more scientific area?”

“Like what?” Q tilts his head, his smile becomes a little indulgent, as if he’s humoring Bond by playing along.

“Computer science.” James shrugs, “Engineering, something to do with hacking, perhaps.”

“The courses they offered were too remedial.” Q shrugs, and doesn’t even try to hide the hint of contempt that laces his voice when he starts speaking about the courses offered at UCL. “I studied on my own mostly for that.”

“I see.” James nods, and for a minute neither of them speak, the silencing hanging in the air along with the subject that neither are willing to broach. 

The waiter brings them their food, and they start eating in silence as well. A couple of times James tries to start conversations, but it always dies after a few sentences. It seems that whatever topic they start discussing invariable leads back to technology, computers, security, and these are topics that neither want to talk about. 

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.” Q says regretfully after the waiter clears their plates. “I don’t think we should…”

“Show me the cufflinks again, Q.” James says with a sigh. It was inevitable that they would come to this, despite all the delaying and circumventing and beating around the bush.

“I left them at the café.” Q looks away from James and gazes out the window. “I’ll get you something nicer next time.”

“Why did you do it?” James asks, “Who are you working for?”

Q laughs at this, an outright laugh that lightens James’s heart briefly. 

“What makes you think I work for anyone at all?” Q sounds curious, and offers James that sad smile that the agent has seen before, not on Q, but on women he’s met before on missions, women who work with men, organizations, generally Britain’s enemies. Not of their free will, but because they are constrained somehow, subdued.

“Q, listen.” James leans forward, he has never been so serious with his bargaining as he is now, “Whatever they have on you, or whatever you think they have. MI6 can help. I can help. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“You think I’m working against you.” Q’s eyes widen marginally. “What…You think I’m a terrorist?” He spits out the last word like a curse. 

“Come in to MI6 with me.” James heaves a soft sigh, “I can explain everything to M. I can protect you from whatever it is that you’re scared of. I can… I can make everything alright, I will. You just have to let me.”

“If I were a terrorist, why would have I helped you at all?” Q all but hisses, his fingers are gripping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles have turned white.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how your mind works.” James is a second away from throwing his hands up in frustration. “I have been able to figure out every single I’ve come across in the last ten, twenty years except you. I don’t understand you. You don’t make any sense. Tell me, Q, tell me why if you are not a terrorist that you won’t tell me your name, you are obviously a brilliant hacker but you don’t work for MI6, MI6 doesn’t even have a file on you, I’ve checked our hacker database. You’ve helped me on a mission that you are not even supposed to know about. Tell me why.”

“You daft…” Q leans back in his chair and runs his hand through his hair, messing up the long locks. “I’m going to tell you a story now, and if you interrupt me before I’m done, I am walking out of this restaurant.”

James nods. 

“There was a boy once who discovered in a high school computer class that he has some amounts of talent towards computers, and codes and hacking and engineering gadgets. He didn’t think anything of it, but he was noticed of course, by everyone kept pushing him, telling him it would a waste, a sin, to not make full use of his talents for good. For science they said, for a greater good. And all the while the only thing he wanted to do was read, read and write. A novel, maybe, fiction, doesn’t have to be a best-seller or anything, but so long as he writes something and people read it. He had a stupid vision of him writing so well that he makes enough money to open a café. It’ll be an awful café, of course, and nobody will visit it. But no matter, because it’ll be his place and he’ll be able to sit in it and write his novels.”

Q pauses at this point and sighs. He looks at his wine glass sadly and then reaches out to take a sip. James doesn’t speak for fear that the young man will make good on his threat of walking out of the restaurant.

“And of course it was so stupid because everything turned out to be the opposite. He actually can’t write worth a damn, everything comes out … just wrong. But he’s still got his dream of a little café, doesn’t he. Because it turns out he is actually good at making coffee and baking and putting together sandwiches." Q scoffs and sighs dramatically. "So he does a bit of consulting for a couple of governments, updates their web security and whatnot, gets the seed money for a café….and well… nobody has to know that he hates computers, hates coding, right? Nobody really wants to know that he would be happy never seeing a computer again, or never typing on a keyboard again.”

“And…why does he hate computers?” James asks after it becomes clear that Q was finished with his story.

“Because why would he like something that has turned people off reading? Turned people off literature?” Q looks so forlorn that Bond feels his heart constrict, “Isn’t it ironic? That he should be best at what is destroying the thing that he loves the most?”

“So why does he help a complete stranger?” James asks fingers drumming on the table again.

 

“Hardly a stranger.” Q looks away from James when he says this and returns to gazing out the restaurant window. “I’d say more of a … friend?”

“So you were just helping to help.” James says, putting the last comment on hold, “Are there no betrayals to be had in my near future?”

“Not from me.” Q scoffs at the idea. “And don’t be so dramatic.”

“If you hate computers, why did you help me?” James finishes the last of his wine, and signals the waiter for another. 

“I’m afraid I’ve grown accustomed to a certain standard of living, Mr. Bond.” Q flashes him a smirk, “from a certain patron who is quite generous with his tips. I would not want to be forced to lower my standard.”

“So then,” James swirls his newly refilled wine glass. “Is this to be one of those things where we are both interested but we both pretend we’re not; dance around each other for months, until finally we give in to a night of passion?”

“Unlikely.” Q smirks and finishes his wine. 

“Just a night of passion then?” James winks, his voice is all honey.

James Bond isn’t stupid. By any measure, he’s actually quite smart. He knows that there are far too many issues between the two of them, between Q and MI6 that have to be resolved, and soon. He knows that there are a number of people who have to be notified of this development. He knows that once MI6 knows about Q, he will have to either become a recruit or will be labeled a threat to the security of Britain. But for now he wants to pretend that they are two people out at dinner. An unsuccessful writer turned café owner and a man who flirts too much.

“Perhaps.” Q sounds amused, but his eyes are still guarded, that much James can tell. “Though I may prefer the dancing around a bit more. I am a romantic at heart, after all.”

“You’ll have to keep serving me good coffee and food until then,” James allows himself a smile, “To keep me interested.”

James drives Q back and at his bequest, drops him off in front of the café. 

“You don’t actually live here, do you?” James asks before Q steps off.

“That’s for me to know, Mr.Bond.” Q unbuckles his seat belt, leans over and whispers into James’s ear. “Have a good evening.”

James turns his head slightly and presses a kiss to Q’s cheek, and if he lingers a moment too long, he thinks he can blame it on the wine (after all, Q doesn’t yet know about his unusually high alcohol tolerance ) “I think I deserve to know your name now.” 

“I think you do too.” Q pulls away and smiles. He kisses James on the lips briefly, quickly, and slips out of the car before the agent can reach forward and grab Q’s hand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at 7am, Commander Bond. ” Q waves through the window that James rolls down.

James falls asleep thinking of soft lips that taste like wine, and a man who smells of tea.


	6. The next time you kiss me...

James steps into the café the next day. Tanner is just grabbing two cups of coffee and two paper bags from Q as James closes the door behind him.

“Morning Bond.” Tanner nods to James as he is on his way out. “Heading in?”

“No, it’s my day off, remember?” Bond gives Tanner one of those smirks that he knows for a fact the other man hates, “You’ll survive two days without me, I think.”

“No doubt.” Tanner rolls his eyes and walks past James, the agent is well mannered enough that he opens and holds the door for the man carrying two cups of coffee, two bags of pastries and a briefcase.

“Coffee and breakfast.” Q lays out a cup and a plate of food on a table when James turns from the door. “Eat, before they get cold.”

“I didn’t know you served full breakfast food here.” James walks over and sits down at what has become his usual table. “I would have taken advantage of this weeks ago if I’d know.”

“We don’t.” Q smiles and lays his hand briefly on James’s upper arm, “And you’re leering.”

“You’re seeing things.” James takes a sip of the coffee (the best cup yet), and picks up the fork that Q has set. In front of him is a plate filled with hearty breakfast food. A cheesy egg scramble with what looks to be tomato and mushrooms, two sausages and two slices of bacon blackened just the way James likes them to be. He takes a bite of the egg scramble and decides that he will never again have breakfast anywhere else.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Mr.Bond.” Q says before he walks into the kitchen, leaving Bond alone with his food.

James has thought about his (theirs, really) situation after he woke up this morning. He thought about it in the shower and on his way here, and he mulled it over one last time over the perfectly prepared food Q has provided with him, and decides that whatever this situation is, it can wait until after he finishes his food.

He brings the plates to the kitchen when he goes, and it is the first time that he actually steps into the kitchen behind the café instead of stepping at the door.

“Normally I’d put this in the sink,” James pauses in the middle of the kitchen, letting Q finish whatever he is slicing before stepping any close, “But I don’t presume to know how your kitchen works.”

“It works the same way all kitchens work,” Q turns around and gives James a stern look, “in that the dirty dishes go into the sink.”

“Of course.” James takes a step forward and places the plate in the sink, which is of course, as all other things in the kitchen, spotless. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Me?” Q gives an innocent look to James that was anything but innocent, then promptly starts smirking, “What about me?”

“Not like that,” James coughs once, “Not this time.”

“This…time…?” Q’s smirks become even more insufferable. “And how many times have you thought about me?”

“Too many, as it were.” James turns and faces Q with a soft smile, “But that’s for later. We need to talk about this, now.”

“If we must.” Q wrinkles his nose in as if the very object of discussion offends him (it probably does), “Do go on.”

“If you come in to MI6 with me, we can get everything sorted out.” Bond says, his fingers have started drumming on the edge of the kitchen counter, “I’ll tell M that you … that you’ll only work with me. If you want, you can be our consultant or …well I’ll tell him you won’t work unless you want to, and…”

James trails off when he sees the sad smile on Q’s face again, the same one that was on his face last night at the restaurant when he was talking about his writing, “Let’s not pretend we don’t know what will happen if I go to MI6, shall we?” Q tilts his head, “I suppose it’s inevitable.”

James knows, of course that an asset like Q would never be allowed to only do consulting work. MI6 would want everything Q has to offer, and the young man would be forced to work on too many projects all at once and end up hating his life for as long as he continues to work with MI6 (which is likely till his old age or death, whichever comes first). 

And if Q refused, he would become a potential liability. Not just that, but a potential threat to Britain. Should he decide that his talents are more profitable elsewhere, or if he ever forced to work with terrorists…well, MI6 is better of tying up loose ends before they become loose ends. 

“Then the only other solution is you must stop cutting off MI6’s surveillance.” James of course has already thought out what to do. He was under no illusion that Q would accept his first proposal. “If you can do that, if you can establish a separate channel, then MI6 doesn’t have to know you’re any more than the owner of a café.”

“That is, if I decide I want to keep helping you.” Q raises his chin just an inch, a look of stubbornness falls over his face. “It would be much easier for me to be rid of this business altogether.”

“Yes, of course.” James nods, “Q, you know I wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Q regards James for nearly a minute, and the agent does not shy away from the look. Finally Q makes a noise at the back of his throat that indicates he was satisfied with whatever he was searching for in James’s face, and gives a slight nod.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but is this not technically treason?” Q turns around to take a biscotti off the cooling rack, and hands it to James. “You’ll be in trouble for this, no?”

James takes the biscotti, and gets the feeling that he is somehow being rewarded for good behavior. He takes a bite of it, and as all food that comes from Q, it’s delicious beyond description. He says nothing on the matter and Q fixes him with a concerned stare.

“You don’t mean that…it actually is treason?” Q is biting his bottom lip, and James wants to kiss him until he stops worrying. “I’m helping a government agent.” 

“You’re a couple of levels above your security clearance.” James states, “and I have knowledge of that, but haven’t turned you in.”

“I see.” Q licks his lips and takes another bite of the biscotti, “Then you should just turn me in.”

“No, I trust you.” James says simply. He’s not sure that Q understands the enormity of those three words. They are perhaps even more telling than the words “I love you”, coming from James Bond. 

“Well then…” Q steps closer to Bond and presses a kiss to the agent. Bond reaches up to hold him in place, but Q has already stepped back.

“The next time you kiss me, it better be a proper kiss.” James growls and licks his lips. 

“As you say, Mr. Bond.” Q’s smile is shy and soft. “Go do your paperwork now, I’ll bring you tea soon.”

“Q, I know you’ve probably read my files.” James starts speaking but his speech is halting, unsure of himself like he never is on missions. “My trust has been broken too many times. There’s hardly any left in me to give out. If you…” James stops to take a breath. Q is still looking intently at the agent, “If you …”

“I won’t.” Q blinks and offers him a smile. “Promise.”

“Okay.” James nods. It shouldn’t be enough. Those words should not be enough, words are wind. Yet they are and James surprises even himself.

“It’s Geoffrey, by the way.” Q says as James is just about the exit the kitchen.

“Geoffrey.” James tests the name on his tongue, and decides that he doesn’t like it. “And what is Q?”

“Q is the letter with the highest point in scrabble.” Q (James can’t really bring himself to think of the young man as Geoffrey. Geoffrey should a name reserved for people who are old enough to be Bond’s father, grandfather, even) says as if that was the most stupid question in the world, “I’ve a certain soft spot for the letter.”

“That’s it?” James asks.

“That’s it.” Q says, “Surely you’ve played scrabble.”

“Exhaustively.” James says, and takes off after winking.

In his report of the mission, James makes sure to leave out anything that seems extra lucky. MI6 would know that he got through the heavily guarded door, but they need not know it opened on its own. MI6 would know that he gave a high-speed chase of the target, but they did not need to know that the traffic conditions were exceptionally good nor the reasons behind it.

He was finishing up when Q stepped out of the kitchen again with his lunch. Today it’s a creamy mushroom soup with some kind of glazed chicken and a side of grilled vegetables that smells like heaven. 

“I thought your job would be more running around in the field and…” Q sets down the plates “less paperwork.”

“I did too when I signed up.” James motions for Q to sit down, “I never seem to see you eat. You do eat, don’t you?”

“There’ll be a crowd coming in soon.” Q says, but sits down nonetheless. “Of course I eat. Don’t be daft, you saw me eat last night, and just now .”

“A biscotti is hardly food.” James scoffs, “I only meant to say that you’re too skinny.” 

“Perhaps you should find someone who’s not too skinny then.” Q rolls his eyes, but reaches out and steals a piece of grilled parsnip from James’s plate. 

“Or you could just eat more. Save us both some trouble.” James smirks. Q doesn't say anything, but stands up just as a man enters, James thinks he catches a brief frown on Q's face before he turns completely away from the agent and towards the door.

James's dislike towards the man who enters has nothing to do with the fact that he interrupted a rather important conversation (James was seconds away from saying the only way to monitor what Q eats would be for them to have a meal together, so they should obviously go out to dinner at some point). The man doesn't spare Q a glance, acts as if he's not there. He ignores Q's greeting completely and walks as if he doesn't see there are two other people in the room. He sits down at the table next to James’s, and only gives the slightest nod when Q tells him it’s a set menu unless he has ordered online beforehand.

“Whatever you have is fine.” The man says, and there is no mistaking his Spanish accent.

“Tourist?” Q is facing away from James so the agent can’t see his expression, but he has seen Q handle enough costumers to know that the warmth is forced.

“Business.” The man doesn’t look at Q or Bond, and sounds annoyed that he is being asked extra questions. 

Q’s hand sneaks behind his back, and James knows that to the man sitting down it looks like Q is scratching his back. To James, however, it is clear that Q is tapping “danger” in Morse code with his index finger.

“I’ll be back soon with your food.” Q nods and turns towards Bond, “How are you finding everything, sir?”

“Everything is fine.” James answers. He is glad that Q has decided to treat him like a stranger. Much less danger for the young man if he’s not associated with the agent. “Don’t worry, it’s good.” James wonders if Q realizes he's not just talking about the food. He must, Q is smart. 

Q nods, and walks through to the kitchen. James draws a breath and turns towards the man sitting at the table next to him.


	7. I can do more than just tossing the salad

The man turns to Bond and stares at him for a second. He seems vaguely familiar to the agent, but then the familiarity passes and James has no idea who he is or what he wants. The man turns away from him with a frown, and James can sense animosity rolling off from him in waves. He doesn’t quite understand, the man seems extremely amateur as an assassin, and James wonders if he’s somehow incurred the wrath of a beginner 

“Wine to start, Righetti Amarone makes for a good appetizer wine,” Q brings a glass for the man, and lays it on the table.

James ignores the flash of jealousy comes from the fact Q has never brought him wine. He knows this is a foolish thought. Instead, James watches as the man huffs, and frowns deeply at the wine as if it offends him.

“Drink.” He says to Q, “Take a drink.”

“Sir,” The single word is filled with so much indignation and contempt that James wonders how the man can stand to be under Q’s glare, “If you are implying that your food could possibly be tempered with, you are more than welcome to leave my restaurant.” But nonetheless Q picks up the glass of wine and takes a rather large gulp, making sure that the man can see as he swallows. He then whirls around to tend to Bond. 

“Anything I can get you, sir?” Q’s voice is softer when it’s turned to James, but the edge is not gone, and James begins going over all the things Q could have put in the wine and how long it would take for his body to react to each of them given his body weight (too low) and the gulp that he just took. 

“Just the check. Thank you.” James nods. He hopes that this gives Q enough time to go to the back kitchen and fix whatever it is he just put in his body with the wine. There is no doubt the wine is spiked, had Q only wanted to dull the man’s senses, he would have picked a stronger wine than the Righetti Amarone. James knows that he should leave the café as soon as possible, so as to not draw too much attention to Q, and not put him in further danger than he already is. But James also feels the need to stay and make sure Q is alright after the wine, and he needs to know that the man is not going to torture Q for information when he leaves (This seems highly unlikely, but James is never one to be optimistic about these situations).

“Just a moment.” Q rolls his eyes and starts to walk towards the kitchen. Bond keeps his eyes on the young man until a thud comes from the table next to him. Q turns around and is by his side in a flash. 

The man is passed out on the table, he’s knocked over the wine glass and wine is spilling onto the floor.

“You’ve taken the antidote already.” James lets a sliver of appreciation slide into his voice when he says this.

“Of course. I’m not stupid.” Q crosses his arm and glances at the man with barely contained disdain. “Do you know who he is?”

“No, but you do.” James says. He thinks it’s a little bit ridiculous that he’s being asked this, it’s not like he was the one who tapped ‘danger’ in Morse code behind his back.

“He’s the brother of Mikala.” Q gives Bond a pointed look. 

Mikala was the girl in Spain who had asked James for protection against her drug-dealing boyfriend who also happened to be James’s target. It becomes apparent after a brief conversation that Mikala was 3-months pregnant and looking for a way out for her and her baby, but she had no more information than James and could not really help in the mission. James had, nevertheless, put her up in a secure hotel, and she was gone when he finished the mission. He never found out where she went, and never sought to know. 

“How did you know?” Bond was not aware that Q had taken an interest in his Spainish mission. He had thought that Q’s interest in him and his missions after him returning from Spain. 

“I didn’t intervene with your mission in Spain because it wasn’t dangerous.” Q rolls his eyes, “not because I hadn’t known about it. He came up in the preliminary research.”

“I’m flattered.” James says, and is touched at the level of detail that does go into Q’s research. MI6 has failed to provide him with information even on Mikala, much less her brother.

“Don’t be, it’s called work ethic.” Q gives James the barest quirk of his lips, “Tie him down, and handle this.”

“I’m taking him into MI6, I don’t want you involved in this.” James says. There have been enough people who has been hurt because of James, and Q will not be one of those.

“You are not.” Q scoffs and walks towards the counter, he does something on the computer and James hears the doors lock. Something flickers over the windows of the café, but is gone within a second. “I’ve close my café, there’s a film over the windows that blocks anyone from looking in. The man has an illegal toxin in his system that you cannot possibly explain to people at MI6, and everybody knows you were here, I don’t want MI6 sniffing around my café.”

“Q, this is a dangerous person –” Bond starts to say, but is cut off by a glare from Q.

“Whom you wouldn’t even know about if not for me. Whom I made pass out without getting hurt. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still perfectly fine and standing here. You are not going to get MI6 in this, and you are going to resolve this in my café in the next 3-4 hours.” Q draws in a deep breath when James doesn’t respond, but only keeps looking at Q with a strange glint in his eyes. “What?”

“You’re very hot when you’re forceful.” James breathes out, and moves to kiss Q. He is, of course, pushed away by the young man.

“Not now, Bond.” Q sounds annoyed, but James doesn’t miss the amusement in his eyes, “Take care of this. I’m going to send out emails explaining to people why they’re not getting lunch orders.”

“Tell them we were having hot animal sex and that kept you from cooking.” James says as he manipulates the man’s lax body so that his hands and feet are properly tied down and secured. 

James ends up converting Q’s storage closet into a temporary interrogation room, he finds a gun (A Smith & Wesson .40 S&W, and James almost feels offended that his assassin thought he could kill the agent with something like that) and a wallet. There’s a picture of the man with Mikala sitting outside a restaurant with their arms around each other and smiling brilliantly. James briefly wonders if Q has any siblings before reading the man’s name on a driver’s license.

“Celso Abrucci.” James muses the name, neither the first nor the last name rings any bells for James.

“He’s out cold. Whatever you put in his wine was very potent.” James steps out of the storage to see Q, “What are you doing?”

“Filling orders.” Q is like a tornado whirling in the kitchen, there are three or four pans fired up all at once, and he is chopping some kind of green vegetable furiously and doesn’t spare a look at James. “Are you done with your man?”

“He’s not awake.” James growls and steps closer to Q, “Do you … do you need help?”

“Seeing as how you’re the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.” Q glares at James briefly before plating the smoked salmon, “Toss the salad and pour the coffee.”

“You can hardly blame me.” James says, but obediently begins to toss the spinach avocado salad. The things are already placed around the bowl, and all James needs to do is mix the ingredients. “And I can do more than just tossing the salad and pouring the coffee, thank you.”

“I can and will blame you.” Q hisses as he scoops a creamy sauce onto the plate next to a fillet of perfectly grilled fish, “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be behind on the orders and I wouldn’t have to rush. You know the whole point of having people order online is so I can avoid the lunch rush and not have to hurried when I’m cooking and I - ”

James cuts Q off in the middle of his rant with a kiss. No more of the chaste, press on the lips kisses that they’ve shared, but a deep, dirty, wet kiss that James has always wanted to have. 

“Everything will be fine, Q.” James whispers and then pulls Q into another kiss when it looks like the young man is about to protest. He hand is firm on Q’s back, pushing the man against him so that they are flush against each other. Kissing Q is intoxicating, and James feels a little drunk even though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol. Q is by no means inexperienced, there is a certain finesse to his kissing that Bond enjoys, but there’s also a sense of shyness that James finds endearing. One of Q’s hand is gripping James’s upper arm, the other is still holding onto the spoon that is now dripping sauce all over the floor.

“Right…” Q lets a shaky breath when they finally pull apart, “Right, so that’s out of the way then.”

“I’ll go finishing pouring the coffee.” James is half hard and licks his lips again. He thinks there’s a lingering taste of Q, a mix of tea and something sweet but at the same time something citrus. 

James hears a noise from the storage and knows that the man must be waking up. He throws a look towards Q, who is balancing two dishes and not even looking towards him.

“Go. I can pour coffee well enough.” Q says without breaking a stride. 

James enters the storage again and sees the man struggling against his bindings. James scoffs, as if he could take out of knots tied by a royal navy commander. 

“Who do you work for?” James asks and strips away the tape covering the man’s mouth. “Why are you here.”

“I don’t work for anyone.” Celso, the man looks more resigned than anything, “I just want to find out what happened to my sister.”

“A charming story.” James sneers, “but let me assure you, it is easier for both of us if you cooperate with me. Now, let’s try this again. Who do you work for?”

“I don’t work for anyone.” The man looks agitated, “I’m a journalist, I write for the El Pais and I do their book reviews. My sister died a month ago and I know she was murdered. The police won’t listen to me, but I want to find her killer. You… if you want to kill me, just know that I will … I will…”

“Are there more people in your family snooping around then?” James sighs, of course it’s just his luck that the woman killed during his last mission has a reporter as a brother (not even a real reporter, really, he does the book reviews), “What exactly are you threatening me with?”

“Look, if you’re going to kill me…” Celso is now sweating profusely. “Just…Just tell me how my sister died before you kill me, please.”

“I’m not going to kill you it would be a waste of a bullet and I don’t think the owner of this place would appreciate blood and gore splattered everywhere in his storage closet.” James resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Your sister was killed by a drug-dealer, he’s dead. You can consider her avenged. You’re going to leave London and not ever come back to this café. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The man swallows nervously, “Yes, sir.”

“Before you leave. Tell me how you got here.” Bond won’t lie and say he’s not the least bit curious, because he is. The clean-up crew should have by all means done a good enough job that nobody should have been able to trace anything back to him. 

“I… my sister said she was working with MI6.” The man hesitates before he speaks, but it is clear that he is telling the truth, “I don’t know…I just…this was the café closest to MI6, I just wanted to scope out the place.”

“You don’t know who I am.” James raises an eyebrow. The situation is getting more and more ridiculous by the second. “You’re here because it’s close to MI6.”

“Well…yes.” The man nods and looks at James apprehensively, “Should I know who you are?”

“No, you really shouldn’t.” James unties the man, “Get out of here and never come back.”

“Yes sir.” The man stands up and all but runs out of the storage. James watches as he hightails it out of the café, a couple of patrons turn to look at the sweaty man running out of the café, and Q gives James a questioning look when he enters the kitchen but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll explain later.” James mutters as he pours himself a glass of wine, “This isn’t spiked, is it?”

“No, and no need.” Q says as he slices a chocolate truffle cake, “I trust you’ve handled the situation sufficiently.”

“Anything I can do to help?” James takes a sip of the wine, and is surprised at the excellent quality of the wine. “This is good, why don’t I get served this?”

“No, we’re done for lunch.” Q sighs and plates the two pieces of cake, “That’s from my personal stores, don’t drink all of it.”

James makes sure to finish the bottle before leaving to go sit at his usual table in the café.


	8. That one time in Shanghai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A relatively short chapter. But hopefully sweet enough to make up for it.

James’s next mission is in Japan. He is handed the briefing and told to move out immediately. There’s a car waiting for him to take him to the airport, and there is no time for him to visit Q before he has to leave.

He wonders if Q knows already that James is leaving, but perhaps he’ll know when James doesn’t show up for lunch. 

James wonders if Q will be worried.

His phone starts ringing just as he is sitting down in the limo to the airport. “Bond.”

“Mr.Bond,” Q’s voice sounds different on the phone, it is slightly distorted and scratchier than usual, but it’s not hard to recognize. “I am under the impression that you are leaving the country.”

“Only briefly.” James reaches out and turns off the intercom in the limo so the driver can’t hear him. The earpiece from Q branch has not been activated yet, so there’s no worrying there. “Should be a straight forward one.”

“I have no way of helping you other than cutting off MI6.” Q says. And James knows it’s a softer way of him saying ‘I can’t help you’, which is ok.

“I know. It’ll be fine.” James says, and he really believes it.

“There’s a matcha I really want from Japan.” Q says softly, “Bring it to me.”

“Sure.” James says, and he knows Q is asking him to come back, to come back safe. “I will.”

“I’ll see you when you come back then.” Q says, there’s a sense of lingering in his voice.

“Q, I’m at the airport.” James says, but he says nothing about hanging up.

“Right, ” Q says, and there’s a half minute of silence on the call. “Well, come back when you’re done.”

“I always do.” James says and waits to hear the click that signals the end of the call before putting his phone away.

The mission is straightforward, it should be easy, it should be done in 5 days and James should be back in London with minor scratches and theoretically no burns.

It doesn’t happen like that. James completes the mission in 2 weeks. He goes back to London with a team of medics all working themselves into a frenzy trying to patch him up. He’s given something that knocks him out during the plane ride, they need to start operating on him right away. He tells one of the medics to make sure everything in his duffle bag is brought back to headquarters, there’s a computer chip in there that Q branch may or may not be interested in, and a couple of pieces of equipment that James doesn’t really understand but was told to bring back.

James wakes up in the medical branch of MI6 and immediately unplugs the IV drip from his hand. He gets up on shaky legs and puts on a pair of trousers and a shirt that’s definitely not his and does not fit properly. Luckily his jacket is on the chair near the bed. James walks out and scowls at anyone who tries to tell him he needs to stay in bed. He doesn’t stop until he is pushing open the door of Q’s café. There were a couple of times where he got dizzy as he walked, but James pushed on. He has never felt the need to see someone at that moment as he did then.

“I didn’t have a chance to get your matcha.” James says as he walks in and Q is walking out of the kitchen.

“You’re an idiot.” Q sounds annoyed and relieved and fond all at once, “You are the biggest idiot I have ever met. I specifically told you to get back with the matcha.”

“Next time,” James smiles and takes Q into his arms in a loose hug (it’s not as if his wounds allow him anything more than that), “Next time I will.”

It’s not like either of them is unclear that they were never talking about the matcha, and James thinks that he has never seen so many emotions on Q’s face as the moment he stepped through those doors. Q buries his face in James’s neck, and the agent can feel his breathe warm on his neck. 

“I think I have to sit down.” James whispers. It’s not what he wants to say, he wants to say ‘I’ve missed you’ or ‘I want to kiss you’ or ‘I want you to close your café and come back to my apartment, I want to make love to you.’ But his legs are about to give out and he feels the dizziness hitting him full force.

“You idiot.” Q says, and leads him to his usual table. “Do you need to go back, or to a hospital maybe?”

“No, but maybe a cup of your coffee.” James says as he sits down. He’s trying not to show the true extend of his injuries, but it is hard to not grimace at the pain.

“Coffee is a blood thinner, you can’t have it when you’re bleeding all over the place still.” Q talks to James as if he really is the most idiotic person in the world, “Sit, I’ll bring you some soup.”

Some soup ended up being an amazingly aromatic chicken noodle soup with a light spinach salad. James eats in silence while Q sits across the table from him, studying the agent’s face and movements carefully to spot any pain.

“Delicious, as always.” James smiles as he finishes his food. Apparently Q is getting over his relief of James being back, because now he only looks annoyed.

“You are never going anywhere else without my equipment.” Q says finally after one more minute of silence. “You’re not. You’re not going on another mission without me.”

“Ok. I can live with that.” James nods.

Q gets up abruptly and rummages through a drawer behind the counter, and fishes out a little box.

“Here. Do not lose them, do not damage them.” Q all but slams down the box in front of James, “Take them with you on missions.”

James opens the box and finds a pair of cuff-links, similar to the first pair; a tie clip in similar fashion of the cuff-links; and a sleek fountain pen.

“Does the pen explode?” He asks as he picks it up to take a closer look.

“Not this one.” Q says with an exasperated smile.

“So you do have one that explores.” James’s smirk grows, “Why don’t I get that one?”

“You can get that one from your tech branch.” Q huffs, “These are a little more sophisticated.”

“Thank you.” James says genuinely as he takes the little box and puts in his jacket pocket. “I’ll take good care of them.” I’ll take good care of you.

“I’d like to go out to dinner again when you’re better.” Q says with a smile, “Last time was fun.”

“We can go tonight if you’d like.” James says, sounding more than pleased with himself.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Q snorts, “When you’re better and can walk without falling down or passing out.”

“I will not pass out.” James frowns.

“Then you must be swooning because of my good looks” Q offers James a playful smirk, “Because you’re definitely not steady on your feet yet.”

“I’ll be fine tomorrow. Tomorrow night then?” James asks and tries his best not to sound too eager.

“When you’re better. We’ll see.” Q reaches out and gently brushes his hand against James’s un-bandaged hand, “Go home and rest, you need to rest.”

“I’d rather stay here.” I’d rather stay close to you. He doesn’t say those words but he hopes Q can hear them.

“There’s a bed in the back, at least put your feet up for a bit.” Q doesn’t argue with James’s desire to stay in the café. “Come, I’ll show you.”

There is indeed a bed, although barely. It’s one of those fold-up beds that reminds James a lot of the military beds he had seen and slept on in his youth. It’s located in a closed off section in the kitchen that James is surprised he hadn’t noticed before, obviously meant to offer relief to Q when he is tired. The area is sectioned off from the kitchen with a screen, the bed looks uncomfortable, but the sheets are soft and the pillow smells like Q so James has no problem closing his eyes as his mind begins to get cloudy immediately.

“Sleep, I’ll be back to check on you.” Q’s hand brush across James’s forehead as the agent closes his eyes, “Yell if you need anything.”

James wakes up in what must be hours later, and hears talking outside the kitchen. Q’s voice is low, and there’s another voice that James has trouble placing it at first, but identifies it after the sentence is uttered.

“… and he’s just gone. He left. The stubborn man, there is no working with him.” James only catches the end of Moneypenny’s sentence, but he’s pretty sure the woman is talking about him.

“He couldn’t have gone very far with all those wounds, right” Q’s voice sounds amused, and it has the tone of him knowing something the other person doesn’t. “He’s probably gone home.”

“He’s probably in a bar getting sloshed.” Moneypenny sounds annoyed, “And it’s not like I’m worried about him or anything, I mean, I know better to crush on James Bond of all people. I just want him to be less frustrating.”

“Of course.” James can hear the edge to Q’s voice even if Moneypenny can’t. 

“I mean, there was this one time in Shanghai,” Moneypenny says, and there is a wistfulness in her tone, “And I think something could have happened… but I just…”

“Right, of course.” By now James can definitely hear the irate edge to his voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m just ranting, it's just that I can hardly talk about this to anyone in the office, and well...” Moneypenny does sound genuinely sorry, “I’m holding you up and it looks like you’re just closing. I'll leave you to it now.”

“It’s not a problem.” Q replies, and James wonders if he’s annoyed at Eve because she has a crush on him or because of that one time in Shanghai. "I hear more gossip about the MI6 than you'd think."

James has to wonder how much of that gossip has to do with him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, dear.” Moneypenny’s voice is getting further away as James hears the sound of her heels clicking on the floor, “Maybe the stubborn fool will have turned up by then.”

“Good evening, Ms. Moneypenny.” Q calls out dutifully, and then there is silence.

“Nothing happened in Shanghai you know.” James says as he steps out of the kitchen and behind Q. 

“I hardly care about what happens you’re half the world away and months before we met.” Q says as he turns and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Go home, Mr. Bond.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Q.” James whispers just before he steals a kiss from the young man (chaste, press against the lips. James really doesn’t want to aggravate his injuries, or start anything he can’t finish)

That night when James is lying on the most Egyptian cotton sheet on his memory-foam mattress custom made pinewood framed bed, he can’t help but think that the little fold-up military bed in the back of a café feels much better. That is to say, not more comfortable, because there’s no competing for comfort with his own bed, but the sheets and pillows and covers had all smelled like Q and that had been more comfort than the clean, crisp smell of the unlived-in bed in James’s flat. 

James wonders how long it has to be before Q joins him in this bed.


	9. Interlude I

**Geoffrey doesn’t enjoy cooking or baking or making tea as much as he enjoy writing. However, the results he receives from his cooking or his baking or him making tea has always been much more satisfying than him writing.**

**He can’t write. It’s a fact. A sad one, for sure, but a fact nonetheless that is not going to change anytime soon.**

**He can analyze wordplay in Shakespeare in a 20 page paper well enough, or argue that the simplicity in Hemmingway’s language is what makes his works shine. But Geoffrey can’t write fiction, even if that’s what he really wants to do.**

**He hates ebooks, detests them. On this subject Geoffrey and Maurice Sendak are in complete agreement (not that Maurice Sendak knows who he is, but no matter). Geoffrey feels like ebooks were made to destroy everything he holds sacred. By association, he hates computers, mostly the internet, which is really what has turned most people off reading (let’s not talk about television. Geoffrey has not been force to sit in front of one since he was 12 and moved out of his parents’ house)**

**It’s not that Geoffrey doesn’t have command of the English language. He does, he can decent poetry, and can dance circles around academic writers. But he seems unable to type up a coherent fictional story. Not a novella, not short fiction, and he doesn’t even want to entertain the idea of writing a novel.**

**He resigned himself to this fate 2 years after he graduates from UCL (with honors). At this point McKinnon, Fyodor (Gordon Lyon), and Dark Dante (Kevin Poulson) have all contacted him to ask if he would like to work on some grey-area hacking projects with them. Geoffrey turned all of them down, claiming that he preferred working by himself (This is not entirely a lie, but it’s not as if he could tell some of the best hackers in the world that he hates the internet).**

**So Geoffrey sticks to what he knows best. He does government consulting projects around the UK. Nothing above municipal so that he doesn’t get too much notice, but the projects are well paid enough (for the amount of time he has to put into them) that he can make a decent living doing so. Slowly he starts to save up a bit a money (when he stops blowing his earnings on expensive alcohol that he thinks will make him more inspired to write fiction. They don’t), and begins seriously entertaining the idea of opening up a café.**

**(Geoffrey stopped hacking bank accounts when he was 19. It’s not like he could be traced and it’s not as if he’s stealing money from anyone who’d miss it. But it feels wrong and he feels dirty and so he stops and vows to only spend money he’s earned by himself. His boyfriend at the time tried to convince him that hacking bank accounts is a form of earning money, Geoffrey broke up with him two days after the comment was made)**

**After all, it is the only connection he has to his adolescent romanticism, and he doesn’t want to see it die entirely. Geoffrey grasps the idea that if perhaps he can hold on to this one aspect of his early aspirations, the rest will eventually come to realization as well.**

**So he opens a café.**

**The design of the café had been in his battered moleskin since his freshman year at UCL where he got too drunk and too high and was still full of dreams of the future. He has updated it over the years, jotted down business ideas, and it’s not that difficult to get things going.**

**Geoffrey takes 10 minutes designing the website for the café, and another 15 to order all the things he’ll need online. He sits back and sips on his tea (it’s a blend of Earl Grey and citrus zest, his own recipe that he’s completely happy with), and wonders if he made the right decision.**

**It’s really pure luck (some would call it ill-luck) that he opens one right across the street from MI6.**

**And the rest, they say, is history.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maurice Sendak, I don't know if he warrants an end note, I half expect everyone to know him. But for those of you who don't, he's the openly gay American author who wrote Where the Wild Things Are. He's very anti e-books.
> 
> I know nothing about hacking, honestly, the names I took were from   
> http://techcrunch.com/2008/07/22/top-10-best-ever-hackers/  
> This wonderful webpage that told me who the top 10 hackers are (it's totally outdated, I know, but I figured this would match Q's university days).
> 
> All the comments I've received are absolutely lovely. It really motivates me to keep writing. I am, unfortunately, moving in the next couple of days, so updates may not be as regular (or lengthy). I'll try my best.


	10. I couldn't find any more clean sheets

James wake up the next morning and he knows he has a fever. He doesn't remember when the last time that happened was, and he doesn't have the energy to think on it too much.

He tries to get out of bed but falls back into it the minute he sits up. There is no way that he's leaving the bed today. He grimaces to himself, it is perhaps the worst thing he can imagine. The sheets are soaked with his sweat, as is his comforter, but as a chill spell hits him he has no choice but to lie in a damp nest of his own sweat. It is unspeakably disgusting, but James really can't afford to spare brain power in thinking about it.

He lets his phone ring for 5 minutes before actually reaching to pick up the call. He's sure that he turned off his phone before he went to sleep, but it wouldn't surprise him if he remembered that wrong as well.

"I know you're not away on a mission," Q's voice sounds heavenly in his ear, "You are still alive, aren't you?"

"Needy, aren't we?" In his mind that's what he said to Q, but what came out was a croaking noise followed by a moan of discomfort.

"I see." Q says, and hangs up.

James is briefly worried that Q might have misunderstood. What if Q thought he was avoiding him on purpose? Mercifully, he passes out before his brain can play out all the scenarios.

When he wakes up again it must be late afternoon, judging by the shadows cast in his room. He hears somebody in the kitchen but he can't bring himself to move. His body feels too heavy, as if his muscles are about to melt off his bones.

So this is how he's going to die. James would laugh if he could move his lips. Lying in a pool of his own sweat, butchered in his own bedroom.

"You shouldn't have left the hospital." James thinks he must be hallucinating when he sees Q walk in with a basin of water and a piece of cloth. "You are an idiot, I hope you know that."

James makes a noise that was a cross between a whimper and a moan. He can't even open his lips to speak, and he feels like utter shit, but he feels better for seeing Q here.

"Don't move." Q sits down on the edge of the bed and starts wiping off James's face with a cool cloth. "You owe me a lot of money, you stubborn fool. I had to close down to come here."

James tries to nod to show that he understands, but only manages to move his head slightly.

"I told you not to move." Q sounds annoyed, but doesn't stop what he's doing, for which James is grateful.

"I'm making you soup, your kitchen is awful, I hope you know that, there's no food anywhere. Your fridge is stocked with beer and half a stick of butter. What am I supposed to do with that?" James is glad that Q is ranting as he moves, it makes the situation a little less awkward. 

"I had to run out and get groceries for you. So you owe me for that too. I couldn't find any more clean sheets, so I think you might be stuck in that for a little bit. Your place is nice, although it's really empty. I would have thought it would be filled with guns."

After a while Q's words start blurring together in James's mind but he tries to grasp on to the sound of Q's voice for as long as he can. 

Q kisses James's cheek after some time and says, "Go to sleep Mr.Bond."

James obeys without another thought.


	11. I only eat pizza when I'm sick

When James wakes up again his bedroom is dark. There's muted noise of people talking in the living room, and it takes him a second to recognize the voice of Gordon Ramasay swearing on the tele.

He gets out of bed slowly, and is glad that there's nobody in the bedroom to witness his sluggish and less than graceful movements. Q is curled up on the couch with a cup of tea in his hands (James was definitely not aware that he had tea in his flat). Hell's Kitchen is showing with the voice turned to the lowest setting possible.

"I don't think you're supposed to be out of bed." Q says and turns to give James a scolding look, "Go back."

"My bed is disgusting." James grimaces at the sound of his voice, "I'm feeling much better."

"Are you?" Q couldn't sound more condescending if he tried, "Come here then."

James has the distinct feeling that Q is only humoring him as if he's really a five year old, but he shuffles over to the couch anyway and sits down next to Q, who lays a hand on his forehead.

"You're still warm." Q mutters, but doesn't seem to be in a hurry to make James go back to bed.

"It's a sign that I'm not dead, I think." James says with a straight face and lays his head so that he's nuzzling Q's neck. "What are you watching?"

"Cooking show." Q lets out a noise of approval, but doesn't respond to James's weak attempt at joking, "You're not really in any condition to be doing that."

"Doing what?" James stops and breathes in the scent of Q, who smells like chicken and grease and tea and should be by all means disgusting but somehow James finds it endearing. "I thought you said you were making me food."

"I did." Q lays a hand on top of James's. He doesn't try to hold James's hand (thank god), but only leaves it there draped on top like a tiny warm blanket, "But you were passed out and I was hungry, so I ate it."

"You're an awful nurse." James mutters darkly. 

"You're welcome to go to a hospital and find a real one." Q scoffs and pushes James away, "I'll go cook up something for you."

"Not hungry." James grabs by his shoulders and manipulates them so that he's somehow spooning Q on the couch (realistically James knows he doesn't really have the strength to manipulate Q, and appreciates the young man for letting his body be moved and molded without complaint).

"If you don't eat then you can't take your medicine." Q says. His eyes are glued to the TV, where Gordon Ramasay just flipped over a tray of undercooked scallops and is now screaming in the kitchen, "You need to eat something."

"Later." James says and drops a kiss to the side of Q's neck. "Why won't you just let me be comfortable for a minute."

"It's your funeral." Q half-heartedly shrugs, but it's hard to do when one is being held in the embrace of a secret agent (even a sick one), so it comes out more like a twich than anything else.

"I could call for takeout." Q offers again after a couple of minutes. "There's not that much stuff left to cook with anyway."

"Do you need to get up for that?" James asks. He finds it fascinating that Gordon Ramasay has now kicked everyone out of the kitchen of his restaurant, "Does he cook everything now?"

"No, the restaurant just shuts down." Q replies, then shifts slightly to pull a phone out of his pocket, "And no, no getting up involved."

"I want pizza." Bond decides after a second of frowning at the tv, "There's a good place a block away, look them up."

"You are insufferably bossy when you're sick." Q says but starts tapping on his phone, "I've leaving you the second you are better."

"Don't be so dramatic." James scoffs and kisses Q's neck again, "It doesn't suit you."

"Bullocks." Q, apparently having found the pizza place that James was talking about, holds up the phone to his ear.

"I like sausage on my pizza," James states, "And bacon."

"Disgusting," Q mutters, but ends up ordering a large with sausage, bacon and green pepper on it. "You'll get fat and slow at this rate."

"I only eat pizza when I'm sick" James states, and realizes that it's true. The last time he's had pizza had been years and years ago.

The knock on the door comes before Q can respond and they both marvel at how fast the service is. Q untangles himself from the sick agent and goes to pull the door open.

"Oh, hello." Q's voice is not how James would imagine greeting the delivery boy should sound like. It's filled with surprise and a sense of nervousness that James hasn't heard before. James tries to turn and see who's at the door, but Q is blocking his view completely. 

"I'm sorry, I must have the wrong address." Moneypenny's voice filters in from the door and James nearly has to work to surpress a groan.

"Um, who were you looking for?" Q asks, and James is sure he already knows the answer to the question. The agent secretly hopes Q is the jealous and selfish type who will turn Moneypenny away at the door.

"I was looking for Bond." Moneypenny says with a breathy laugh, "He put this down as his address. I should have known he wouldn't put down his real address. He didn't show up to MI6 today and nobody's able to reach him and well..." She trails off, and James can picture her shrugging in his mind.

"He's sick. Come in." This time James does let out a groan. He doesn't really want anybody from MI6 to see him in his current state, not to mention he was actually looking forward to spending time with Q. Alone.

"Oh..." Moneypennys sounds hesitant to cross into the flat, "I didn't mean to interrupt anything...."

"You're not." Q's voice is getting louder now, which must mean he's leaving the doorway. The second set of footsteps behind him tells James that Moneypenny is following.

"Hello James." Moneypenny greets him with a tight smile when she comes in. She's wearing a tightfitting maroon dress and accents her figure perfectly. Her makeup is done up and not a single hair on her head is out of place. "I didn't know you two lived together."

"We don't."

"Why would you?"

The answers are simultaneous and Q shoots a James a dark look is filled with the slightest hint of amusement.

"I see..." Moneypenny stands awkwardly in front of the couch and sounds extremely uncomfortable.

"There's nothing for you to see." Q scowls and sits down next to James again, who immediately slips his arm around the young man's shoulders. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Um, no, no. I think not." She gives another tight lipped smile, "Just...I think I'll go. Now that I know he's not dead. Bond, that is. Now that I know Bond isn't dead." 

"We ordered pizza." Q says in the same flat tone that he used to invite Moneyenny to stay for dinner. "I'm sure we could feed you as well. It's a large."

"No, really, it's alright." Moneypenny is now shifting towards the door slowly, "I think I'll just leave. I'm glad that you two...that you are...that ...well, yes..." She doesn't really finish the sentence, but Q sees her out anyway and bids her a polite goodnight.

"Well that was interesting." James says as Q comes back and settles next to him. "I've never seen her quite so flustered."

"She's got quite a crush on you." Q says simply, and shifts so that his body is curled against James. "I hope you weren't trying to keep this a secret."

James laughs and turns to kiss Q's cheek (he's careful not to kiss Q on the mouth so the young man doesn't get sick, even though he's pretty sure whatever he has is from his wounds and not contagious). "They can know about this, so long as they don't find out about your other talents."

James was referring to Q's hacking and computer skills, of course. But Q elbows him and snorts and James knows he took it the wrong way, but he's alright with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite her small role, Moneypenny is apparently absolutely smitten with Bond in the novels. Her character here is based on that more than anything else. There will be no crazy plot twists where she acts like a crazy insane jealous woman. But I thought it appropriate that her reaction to the man of her dreams seeing another man should be less than thrilled.
> 
> I don't know if Britain shows Hell's Kitchen. But it's one of my favorite shows, and I think for some reason Q would enjoy watching less than competent chefs being yelled at.


	12. It's Moneypenny...

The pizza arrived tepid and far too greasy, but James ate two slices anyway and watched Q grimace as he dabbed his with a napkin to soak up some of the grease. The young man had one slice and made a face as if it was the worst thing he’s ever eaten, then decidedly pushed away his plate.

“I hope you never get sick again,” Q mutters as he takes James’s plate (which was fine sitting on the carpet in front of the couch where it was) and puts it into the sink, “If only so I never have to eat that again.”

“I thought you were leaving me as soon as I got better.” James says smugly, he obediently swallows the pills that Q hands him and leans back into the couch so Q sit comfortably against him.

“I am.” Q snuggles close to James as he replies, “The second you’re better.”

“Sure.” James runs his fingers through Q’s hair, and it is every bit as fluffy and soft as it looks. 

“I’ll have to go back to the café tomorrow.” Q says after they pass a couple of minutes in silence, “I got angry emails for closing the place down today.”

“From who?” James frowns at the thought that people may be threatening Q, “I can take care of it.”

“Random people at MI6, don’t worry about it. They were more annoyed than angry.”   
Q is excellent at cuddling, he is close without being overwhelming and is warm and soft yet contrarily sleek and angular and James loves it. Q does not cling, but he holds on to James’s arm with just enough force that James is comfortable and there is a warm feeling spreading in his chest. 

James is awkward. He is smooth and suave when it comes to picking up beautiful people at black-tie events, at bars, at gallery openings and casinos, he is good in bed (That’s him being modest, he has been told many times over that he is in fact excellent, unrivaled in bed), he will even cuddle post coitus, but (and James feels no shame in admitting this) he has not held someone while they watch television sitting on the couch, and he doesn’t really know what to do.   
His hands feel out of place, and James is sure he has never thought so much about where to put his hands. He doesn’t know if he should lean into Q or sit straight, or lean back into the couch. Should he pull up his legs and curl like Q is doing? Should he cross his legs? 

“You’re thinking too much.” Q says and pulls James’s arm so that it’s on the back of the couch and around his shoulders. He moves James’s body around a little and shifts them both on the couch so that they’re both comfortable, then leans in with a soft sigh of comfort. “Anyway, I need to open the café tomorrow, so I can’t be here.”

“I’ll be feeling well enough to head down there myself.” James pulls Q a little closer and almost laughs at the level of comfort he is feeling. It seems so easy, too easy. As do all things that have to do with Q.

“I won’t have time to run the café and look after you.” Q says haughtily, but he tightens the hold on James’s hand slightly and James knows he’s pleased. “You’ll have to manage by yourself. I’ll not have you passing out in the middle of my café.”

“Yes, of course.” James turns his head and drops a kiss on the top of Q’s head. “I’ll be fine.”

“I should leave soon.” Q says softly, but does not move an inch from where he’s sitting.

“Or you could stay here tonight.” James says, “In case, you know, my fever comes back during the night. You should stay.”

Q hums as a form of reply and James can’t quite tell if he’s agreeing to stay or thinks the idea is preposterous. He’s nervous to push the issue, so doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll have to find clean sheets for your bed then,” Q says just when James is thinking maybe asking Q if he wants a cab to be called, “I’m not sleeping on the couch and I’m definitely not sleeping on sweaty sheets.”

“I’m sure I have another set somewhere.” James says, “I can take the couch, that’s fine.”

“Don’t be daft.” Q says and there’s so much fondness in his voice that James nearly startles, “You have a big enough bed.”

“I suppose I do.” James replies with a smile and leans over to give Q a proper kiss, but turns at the last second to shift so that the kiss lands on Q’s cheek instead.

“I doubt you’re contagious,” Q scoffs and presses a kiss to James’s lips.

“A doctor now, are you?” James smiles and pulls Q into a deeper kiss. He licks into the young man’s mouth and pulls and heaves and lifts so Q is eventually straddling him on the couch. 

“Not…not quite a doctor.” Q says as he pulls away to draw in air, “Although judging by your recovery I’ve been doing a remarkable job.”

“Indeed.” James pulls Q into another kiss, this time less demanding and more tender. He shifts his hips slightly and groans at the delicious friction between him and Q. When they break apart this time he continues to trail kisses along Q’s neck, nipping and licking and sucking on the stretch of skin warm and soft on his lips.

When his phone goes off on the coffee table, James is ready to kill whoever is on the other line. Q stumbles off him and falls onto the couch in an undignified heap. James curses under his breath and reaches out to pick up.

“Bond here.” He recognizes the number (even though it’s not saved in his phone. There are no saved numbers in his phone, ever), it’s from M’s office.

“Someone has Moneypenny. I need you to get her back.” M’s actually sounds nervous, and James can completely understand the near panic edge to his usual calm voice. Despite being a former field agent, Moneypenny has received minimum interrogation training, and given her current position she really knows too much about MI6 than anybody should.

“When?” James asks, and Q shoots him a worried look at the seriousness of his voice.

“We think 20 minutes ago. She was on her way back to her apartment.” M heaves a sigh, “Come in so we can get you equipped, Q branch is trying to pinpoint her location right now.”

“10 minutes.” James says, and hangs up the phone. He gives Q an apologetic look and says, “It’s Moneypenny, she’s been kidnapped.”

“You’re sure you can handle fieldwork right now?” Q sounds skeptical, and if he’s honest with himself James has had the same question running in his mind. But he’s done more while he was worse, so he brushes it off.

“I’ll be fine.” James gives him a small smile, “Plus, I have you, don’t I?”

“I suppose.” Q nods and stands from the couch. “Drop me off at the café, that’s where all my stuff is.”

“Sure.” James picks up the set of cufflinks from Q and drapes on his jacket. He pauses at the door and gives Q a serious look, “Next time you come over we’re not stopping.”

“Britain willing.” Q throws him a smirk and leans in to kiss briefly, “Stay safe.”


	13. Always you

It was easy to track the location of Moneypenny, after all whoever kidnapped her had expected it. James has the voice of a Q branch staff in his ear, and they’re not really offering him any information that he did not already know.

He did, however, notice that he hit all green lights on his drive to the pinpointed location. He knows this is the work of Q and not MI6 and he’s glad that the young man is on his side.

The operation of actually extracting Moneypenny was not as difficult as James had originally imagined. It becomes immediately apparent that this was laid out so an agent from MI6 would easily track them down. A trap, although it’s difficult to tell if it was specifically meant for James. 

The kidnappers, in an act of cliché, had chosen an empty warehouse and had tied Moneypenny to a chair in the center of it while guards were patrolling the parameter. The fire alarm going off in the warehouse successfully distracted enough of the guards that James slipped into the parameter. He takes out two of them silently without raising any alarms with the others, and quickly runs towards Moneypenny. Her head is bowed low so that her chin is nearly touching her chest, and from the looks of it she’s not conscious, but there are no visible wounds and James is thankful that it doesn’t look like she’s been tortured or interrogated.

“Moneypenny.” He whispers as he starts to untie her bonds. Ropes and not chains, and again, James is glad for the complete and utter incompetence of whoever kidnapped her. 

“James?” Her words were slurred, but only slightly, and she seems to be waking up from whatever drug-induced stupor she had been in, “James, it’s a trap. They - ”

She never got to finish her sentence; a shot rang out in the warehouse and missed James only because he ducked on instinct. The single bullet was followed by a barrage of shots, and James pulled Moneypenny up and ran towards the wooden crates off the to side. They gave them some coverage, but James knew it would only be a matter of time before they were surrounded on all sides if he wasn’t quick about finding a way out.

“Backup is on the way, 007. Hold 2 minutes.” M’s voice came through his ear piece, and James replies something in the affirmative while checking up on Moneypenny. She seemed fine, if a little dazed.

“James, you’ve been wounded.” Moneypenny’s eyes widen slightly when her gaze lands on James’s thigh, a bullet is buried somewhere in there, and James can feel his left leg shaking even as he’s crotched down. But he’s had worse and he pushes the pain to the back of his mind.

“It’s fine. Doesn’t matter.” He replies, and after making sure nothing is too off with Moneypenny, starts shooting back at the kidnappers. At the rate he’s shooting he’s got about enough ammo to hold for two minutes. At this point he’s not really aiming for anyone, only trying to get them some cover. Aiming seems pointless from the angle he has on the kidnappers, but James shoots well enough that the number of bullets scraping by the crates dramatically decreases.

“James, you’ll bleed to death. You have to staunch the blood flow.” Moneypenny says behind him, her voice sounds distant in James’s attempt to concentrate both on shooting and pushing back the pain. It hits the agent then that he didn’t really enter the mission at 100%, and 

“Quiet.” He grits out, because he can’t really spare any energy to put into more words.  
James concentrates on shooting, and just when it feels as if he couldn’t possibly pull the trigger one more time or hold up the gun one more second, the doors of the warehouse burst open and a team of men carrying machine guns rushes in. James drops his gun the second he recognizes the men as MI6 agents, and as he loses conscious he wonders where the stench of blood is coming from.

He wakes up in a hospital room that is decidedly not the medical department of MI6. As a force of habit he checks his surroundings and notes the exits (window and door) of the room, and offers Moneypenny a wry smile.

“About time you woke up.” She says and puts her hand over James’s. Her hands feel strange, too soft, too smooth, too light. He immediately misses the feel of another pair of hands over his.

“You look good.” He says instead of asking where he is or what happened.

“I had time to change, you were passed out for so long.” Moneypenny’s eyes start watering at her words, “It was so stupid, James, they didn’t even know who I was. They just knew I worked at MI6 and they wanted a bait…and I could have handled them but I was distracted and they surprised me and I just…”

“It’s fine Moneypenny, really.” James brushes off the apology, he knows the exact reason why she was distracted, but it seems tactless to mention it. “I’ve had much worse. From you, actually, so it’s fine.”

“I really am sorry, James.” She gives him a teary smile and bends down to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Eve, really? After all we’ve been through - ” James starts with a smirk but stops when there’s a soft cough at the door. He looks over and wishes he could bite his damned tongue off. 

Q is standing at the door with a particular look on his face. James doesn’t miss the way Q’s eyes dart to their hands when Moneypenny draws back her hand looking almost guilty. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Q’s voice is slightly too steady and his eyes just a little bit too hard, James wonders if Q is angry that he got himself hurt (because it’s not like Q would be jealous, Q is way too rational for that).

“Q, I’m glad you’re here.” James says, and gives him a smile. “Come here.”

“I was just leaving,” Moenypenny says with a smile and stands up to leave, smoothing her dress. 

“No, I think you should probably keep him company.” Q shoots Moneypenny a smile, and James couldn’t help but notice that he hasn’t one yet, “I’m going to get some water from the vending machine.”

“There’s water…” right there, James wants to say, but Q is gone before he can get the words out.

“I’m so sorry.” Moneypenny looks at him with sad, slightly panicked eyes, “I’ll go and sort it out. It’ll be ok. I’ll explain everything.”

James isn’t sure what there is to explain. He’s not entirely sure what’s wrong. His brain refuses to entertain the possibility that Q is jealous. He can tell Q is angry, that much he knows. He’s not sure why (because he knows Q isn’t jealous), but he does know that if Q doesn’t want to be caught up with, then Moneypenny isn’t going to find him and there is no explaining anything.

He actually does start panicking a little at the thought that maybe this is the start of a huge misunderstanding and he and Q would eventually grow apart because Q would remain angry at him and he would remain confused as to what Q is angry for. He may not have a lot of experience with relationships, but he’s heard enough complaints about them from the bitter, neglected women he’s been with.

So when he walks into Q’s café late in the afternoon when it’s empty (he’s changed out of the hospital gown at least, but there’s blood seeping through his bandages and he’s a little bit glad that his pants are black so it’s hard to tell. He’s also glad he keeps just enough cash to take a cab from the hospital he was in to the café), James hopes that Q is calm enough that they can talk about whatever issue seems to have angered Q so much. He resolves that he will apologize for getting hurt, even if it’s not really his fault that he gets shot at.

“What are you doing here?” Q actually looks livid when he steps out of the kitchen. Thankfully the café is empty otherwise James is certain Q would have scared away all his customers with that sentence alone. “You idiot, do you have no sense of sense of self preservation at all?”

“I’m sorry.” James says on instinct. He’s not sure if he’s apologizing for getting hurt or coming to the café or what, but he apologizes nonetheless and breathes a sigh of relief when Q immediately softens.

“What are you sorry for?” Q asks darkly as he makes his way over to James and helps the agent sit down in the nearest chair.

“For making you angry.” James says. He’s not sure if that’s how he’s supposed to play it, but he is sorry that Q is angry with him, so it’s not lying.

“You don’ t even know why I’m not angry.” Q scoffs, but he doesn’t sound angry anymore, only resigned and a little bit annoyed. 

“I know you’re angry with me.” James says and reaches out to take hold of Q’s hand. “I’m not sure what I did wrong. I didn’t actually do anything particularly dangerous.”

Q scoffs, “I’ve come to accept the fact that you’re going to get hurt no matter what, I am not very much concerned with how or why, only that you come back alive.”

“Then I don’t know,” James says, even though he gets the sneaking suspicion that he’s known the reason all along. He can’t quite bring himself to say it, so he doesn’t.

“I didn’t know you and Ms.Moneypenny were on first name basis.” Q says, and he has the grace to look a little sheepish. 

“Q.” James says and he doesn’t really know quite what to say. He’s always despised clingy jealous women, they have a tendency of making his life so much more complicated. But he’s happy. He’s never been quite so happy at the knowledge that somebody is jealous over him.

“Don’t say anything.” Q threatens with a stern look.

“You are amazing.” James states and leans back into the chair. He is careful not to let go of Q’s hand.

“Really?” Q raises an eyebrow, “But I’m being so unreasonable.”

“Even so.” James smiles, one of the genuine ones that he saves for Q. “Amazing.”

“You need to go to a hospital before you start bleeding all over the floor.” Q rolls his eyes but James notes the slight coloring of his otherwise pale cheeks. “I’d never pass health inspection if there’s blood on the floor.”

“There’s a medical branch in MI6.” James does concur that he probably needs some medical attention. He’s beginning to feel light-headed from the loss of blood.

“Go then,” Q squeezes his hand a little, “I’ve got a business to run, and you’re getting in my way with your bullet wounds and flattery.”

“Call me when you close, I’ll find you.” James lifts Q’s hand and brushes a kiss on his knuckles. 

“Fine, but you have to stay off your feet and rest properly until then.” Q draws back his hand and puts on his commanding voice. James nods and stands to walk shakily to the door. He doesn’t want help from Q and is glad that none is offered.

“Q,” James calls out once he gets to the door, the young man is still standing where James left him, watching with a slightly concerned expression.

“Yes, Mr. Bond?” 

“You have nothing to be jealous about.” James pushes open the door and takes a step, but doesn’t turn away from Q, “I’d choose you a million times over. Always you.”

“Get out of my café, Mr. Bond.” Q turns around before James can see his expression clearly, but his voice is filled with so much fondness that it makes James’s heart skips a beat.


	14. My level of fitness is not yet at full capacity to be able to report for duty.

Bond recovers slowly but steadily now that there isn’t any more kidnappings to give him new wounds. Nobody in the medical branch of MI6 understand why he comes in to the branch during the day and leaves around 7 everyday. While the newer staff think he’s crazy and is trying to take advantage of the health care offered at MI6, the older generation of staff (who have seen how James Bond behaves usually in the medical branch) is simply amazed that he’s showing up at all.   
After three days when the doctors declare him fit to leave the bed and walk around (as if he weren’t doing that before), he stops coming in to MI6 altogether. 

They still see him though, he sits in the table in the café across the street and reads. They never see him order anything, but there is a continuous service of food and drinks to his table. A couple of them have tried to order whatever is on the agent’s table. A sandwich, a salad, various types of pastries, cookies, parfaits, but have all been told that it’s off menu and aren’t priced for sale yet.

On the first day one of the bolder interns replied “but you sold it to him, so you can make another serving.” 

The look that James Bond had thrown at him had resulted in the intern remembering urgent matters that needed to be taken care of in the office and all but ran out of the café.

After that everyone learned not to comment on the food or the special treatment that the agent gets in the café.

There are of course, rumors that get spread around about the nature of the relationship between the café owner and the agent. Somebody in tech starts a betting pool on what the actual nature of their relationship is.

So there is now an internal memo (on the internal MI6 serve with the MI6 equivalent of Google Doc) shared between no fewer than 68 members of staff employed at MI6 where people can put their name down, and in brackets how much they are betting (minimum 100 pounds) on what they think is going on between the owner of café Q and the agent 007. 

1\. The owner of the café is in love with James Bond and opened a café to be near him  
2\. The owner of the café is wanted internationally but has sworn against his old ways in order to win the love of James Bond  
3\. The owner of the café is waiting for the perfect moment to exact revenge on James Bond for the death of his former lover  
4\. James Bond has taken the owner as a lover and is financing the café.  
5\. James Bond is keeping the owner hostage as his sex slave (There was only one name under this one. Earl from Communications, for 100 pounds. He had been drunk when he wrote it and has since then been trying to contact those in charge of the pool to fix the mistake)  
6\. James Bond is really the brother of the owner and is keeping him close to protect him  
7\. James Bond is really the father of the owner and is keeping him close to protect him

James Bond, of course, receives a copy of the document from unnamed sources (Eve sends a copy to him first, followed closely by Tanner with the message “give me a tip, I’ll split the winning”), he shows the document to Q when he comes around to collect James’s empty coffee mug, and young man just scoffs.

“They’re rather creative, aren’t they?” James pulls Q down for a brief kiss. Q allows this when the café is empty. He allows James’s hand to linger just a tad too low on his back when the café is empty. He has made it very clear that these are only allowed when the café is empty, because “people won’t want to eat here if they think we’ve been doing naughty things in the kitchen”. James isn’t sure how the man managed to say it with a straight face, but he’s not in a condition to complain so he doesn’t say anything.

Q does, however, let James’s fingers brush against his hand when he brings the agent food. Q gives him secretive smiles and smirks and James feels a burst of happiness whenever he sees Q. 

“Are you from Spain?” A customer at the table next to James asks one early afternoon, and James nearly snorts. There is no way that Q’s complexion could be mistaken for someone from Spain.

“No.” Q says and hands the woman her check.

“Italy, then?” The woman asks, clearly interested.

“No.” James sees out of the corner of his eyes that Q is smiling and shaking his head.

“Oh, sorry” The woman sounds sheepish, “I saw your décor and I just assumed.”

James realizes, at the same moment Q does as well, that the woman is referring to the El Toro figurine and the miniature of the Coliseum that James has brought for Q. Both are sitting next to the cash register. They are rather hard to miss in the otherwise undecorated café.

“My boyfriend travels a lot,” Q says as he accepts the woman’s credit card, “They’re from him.”

James’s grin is so wide he thinks it might become permanent on his face. He strolls into the kitchen the second that the woman leaves the café (she is, thankfully, the last customer lingering in the café that afternoon) and pulls Q into a kiss.

“Knew you’d do that.” Q mutters with a smirk.

“Quiet you,” James whispers and sucks lightly on Q’s earlobe, “I’ve heard all I want to hear from you.”

“Tyrant.” Q says, but the effect is somewhat diminished by the breathy moan that follows.

Q pushes him away when somebody comes into the café, (there’s a light hooked up to the kitchen that is connected to a motion sensor by the door, it flashes every time somebody comes in. So simple that James kicks himself for missing it) and James goes back to his seat.

“None of those are right, although I wouldn’t mind having him as a sex slave.” He sends the message to Tanner and wonders how much trouble he’s gotten with M.

Eve sends an email about ten minutes later saying M is concerned and he is to come in as soon as he is able to discuss some of his recent conducts.

“My level of fitness is not yet at full capacity to be able to report for duty.” James fires back the email and deletes the conversation from his inbox.

He spends the rest of the day reading his book (The Orphan Master’s Son). When, at the end of the day after Q cleans up the kitchen (James helps, apparently, by simply staying put and not making a muck out of everything), he asks Q if the young man would like to go out on a date.

“Yes.” Q says without hesitation.


	15. Night's not over yet

The restaurant that they ended up was not the most glamorous one. Bond, who prides himself on knowing the best restaurants and bars in London (for the duration that he’s in the city, of course), is surprised that he’s never heard the restaurant mentioned despite the fact that looking at the décor, the place seems to have been open for years.

“I came here once with my parents.” Q explains as they sit down (nobody seats them, they simply choose a table and sat down), “I remember liking it a lot. I can’t believe it’s still open.”

“It’s…” Bond looks around, and for lack of better adjectives, “cozy.”

“It’s not as fancy as I remembered it.” Q smiles sheepishly, “Probably not as romantic as you thought.”

“It’s fine.” James knows that normally he would not be caught dead in a place like this, but somehow with Q it seems especially intimate. “I like this place.”

“Oh please…” Q snorts and is about to say something else when a disgruntled waitress comes over and drops off two menus (which are really just two sheets of laminated paper with grease stains all over). “I’m pretty sure they had real menus the last time I was here.”

“When was the last time you were here?” James asks and gingerly picks up the menu. He’s handled things in the field that are much grittier than a grease-stained menu, of course, but somehow this seems all the more disgusting.

“8 years ago.” Q says as he scans the menu with a frown, “You know, maybe we should just leave. We can go somewhere else and …”

“No, no really. It’s fine.” James reads over the menu and decides the safest option might be bangers and mash, perhaps washed down with some beer. 

“Sorry,” Q says apologetically after the waitress takes their order with barely a word (Q orders the chicken pot pie and a coke, James asks for whatever beer is on tap, which turns out to be Guiness).

“This is fine,” James says, “I care more about going on a date with you than the actual date.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr.Bond,” Q smirks but looks pleased nonetheless. “You’re certain you’re not going to pass out on me?”

“Of course not. That’s just bad form.” James reaches across the table and puts his hand on top of Q’s. “I feel fine, stop fretting.”

“I do not fret.” Q frowns but doesn’t pull away his hand.

“Hey! Hey you two!” A shout comes from behind their table and Q’s head whips around so fast that James is worried he’s strained his neck. “None of that queer stuff in here. You get out! Get out now!”

“Sir, I suggest you go back to whatever you were doing before,” James says in his most threatening voice. Q starts to pull his hand away, but James’s grip tightens.

“Get out! Get out of my restaurant!” The man is shouting from the kitchen doorway. He’s short and fat and beet red in the face, looking like his heart might give out any moment. The man is waving a wooden spoon around in his hand, but perhaps sufficiently cowed by James, has not stepped any further than the kitchen.

James and Q stand up at the same time, but where James was walking over towards the man, Q was pushing against James and leading them towards the door.

“Q.” James grits out, standing his ground, “I am not going let that man - ”

“Please.” Q says and gives James a look that makes the agent pause, “Let’s just go.”

“But he - ” James throws the man a menacing glare and the man steps back before waving the spoon in the air as if he were brandishing a rifle.

“James…”

Maybe it was the way that Q says his name, or the fact that it was the first time that Q says his first name at all, but James stops in his tracks and allows himself to be pushed outside the restaurant by the skinny young man.

“I would have taken care of him.” James grumbles as the both of them stand on the curb not quite knowing what they are doing.

“I know.” Q looks more apologetically than he should, “I know you would have. I’m sorry, I really am. I just…”

“It’s fine.” James pulls Q into a loose hug and kisses his temple, “It’s fine, and it’s not your fault.”

“What do you want to do now?” Q mumbles into James’s shoulder. “Probably better if you pick.”

“How about we go back to my place?” James whispers, “We can pick up something to eat on the way and … I don’t know…watch a movie or something?”

“Sounds good.” Q nods, and allows James to hold his hand as they try and hail a taxi.

“It’s so stupid.” Q says after a couple minutes of silence, “For some reason against all my better judgment there’s this streak of romanticism in me that I just can’t seem to stomp out.”  
Q shakes his head as if he’s being completely ridiculous.

“I always think if I hold on to something hard enough, some small thing I liked as a kid or some rustic notion of romance, it’ll all work out and it never does…”

“I think it’s worked out fine.” James says and squeezes Q’s hand, “Your café is working out nicely, and I wouldn’t have met you if not for that.”

“Yeah, turned out great tonight, didn’t it?” Q snorts, but leans towards James just slightly.

“Night’s not over yet.” James says as he hails down a taxi. “After you, sweetheart.”

“If you ever call me that again…” Q threatens, but breaks out into a smile at the end that warms James’s heart.

The ride back to James’s flat is less than 10 minutes, and throughout the whole ride Q fought a losing battle of trying to keep James’s hand off his thigh. 

“Stop it.” Q whispers as they pull up in front of James’s building. 

“As you say.” James squeezes Q’s thigh one more time and leans forward to pay their fare. They pick up Chinese at the little place across the street (Beef and broccoli for Q, Lo Mein for James) and make out like teenagers in the elevator.

Q insists on choosing the movie and picks from James’s somewhat lacking collection of random movies he’s picked up over the years and Q practically preens when he spots the somewhat battered copy of Return of the King.

“Where are the first two?” Q asks, holding up the copy as James is attempting to be proper and putting the Chinese takeout in plates. 

“I don’t have them.” James shrugs, “Just the one.”

“You make no sense.” Q shakes his head, but puts the dvd in anyway. 

James does not dignify that with a reply, instead he walks over and hands Q his food and settles next to the young man on the couch.

They’re half way through their food (it’s much too greasy for either of them to actually finish eating completely) and about a third of the way through the movie when James breaks all pretense of watching Orlando Bloom on the big flat-screen and leans over to kiss Q.

They both taste like greasy Chinese food with too much soy sauce and Q accidentally bites James’s bottom lip (James has had enough kisses from Q to know when it’s on purpose and when it’s an accident), but James is pretty sure it’s the greatest kiss he’s ever had. 

“Wanna move to the bedroom?” James shifts on the couch and strokes Q’s cheek softly, “I’ve got clean sheets.”

“I’m a little concerned that your phone is going to go off the second I say yes.” Q catches James’s hand and kisses his palm, “But I suppose it’s worth the risk.”

James, who does nothing by halves, picks up Q and carries him bridal style into the bedroom, all the while Q is grinning and kissing James’s cheek and ear and neck and anywhere he can plausibly reach without unbalancing them.


	16. I’m just trying to look out for you

James wakes up with a warm body snuggled up next to him. His own body tenses automatically after years of conditioning, but he relaxes almost immediately after feeling a soft head of hair shift against his shoulder.

There are a handful of situations that James can remember where he wakes up next to a person. None of those situations involve his own bed in his own flat in London.

Q is still asleep, he’s snoring softly and his hand is wrapped loosely around James’s bicep. James closes his eyes again, and wills himself to go back to sleep.

He doesn’t really remember the last time he’s felt so relaxed.

And then, of course, his world comes crashing down around him.

The sound of alarms blaring fill his bedroom, it’s coming from somewhere under the bed and James startles into an alerted state.

Q sits up from the bed with a start and looks around in a confused daze. He reaches out to the side of the bed and tries to feel his glasses on his nightstand, but of course this isn’t his room but James’s so there is no nightstand there. James hands Q his glasses (he had enough sense to remember to put them somewhere safe last night), and Q starts muttering under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” James asks, watching the young man fumble around shifting various items of clothing on the floor.

“That’s the alarm system hooked up to my apartment. Somebody’s broken in.” Q is completely calm as he finally digs his phone out from under the bed and turns of the alarm with a swipe of his finger.

“We’ll go over and check it out.” James stands from the bed and starts pulling his pants on. 

“No, it’s fine. I can see them on the camera.” Q says as he continues to stare at his screen. James moves next to him, shirtless for the moment. 

“You have surveillance cameras installed in your own apartment.” James doesn’t ask, he simply states what an incontrovertible fact. “I feel like I should be surprised. But I’m not.”

“You really shouldn’t be.” Q frowns as the men in his apartment start rummaging through his belongings (not that there are many). There are 4 men on camera, wearing what looks like heavy military jackets. They have pulled every book from Q’s bookshelf on to the floor, and are now ripping apart his couch.

“I don’t suppose you know them.” James asks as he hugs Q from behind.

“They’re wearing military things.” Q says, “The closest I’ve come to dealing with the military is through you.”

“Those aren’t military men.” James presses a kiss on to Q’s shoulder, “The jackets look military, but they’re not. Those are the old design, the military haven’t been using them for years, but you can pick up a set at an Army shop easily.”

“I wonder if they knew I wouldn’t be home.” Q says. He swipes his phone screen with his index finger a couple of times and the surveillance turns to outside his apartment building. There’s a van parked outside of it, no driver and no other people milling around.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go and set them straight?” James tightens his hold on Q for a moment. “They’re really tearing your place apart.”

“No, it’s fine.” Q says nonchalantly, “Not the first time that’s happened.”

“So you know who they are.” James isn’t surprised at Q’s reply. The young man’s whole demeanor when handling the situation screams that it’s happened more than once before.

“Not really. Could be anyone.” Q shrugs, “Sometimes I turn down jobs if I think they’re too dangerous. People get upset, or they assume I’m working with their enemy. Either way, doesn’t end well for me.”

“You turn down jobs?” There’s a flash of Q as head of catering for an event, then James realizes how ridiculous he’s being.

“Sometimes certain government or government branches contact me for potential consulting jobs, and I think they’re not worth my time, and I turn them down.” Q explains patiently as if talking to a child, “Then they get mad and throw tantrums.”

“When you say governments,” James scratches his nose but pulls Q even closer with his other hand, “You mean the British and maybe France.”

“And a couple of other ones.” Q shuts down his phone and pulls up his email instead, evidentally getting tired of watching his things being destroyed. “Nothing too outlandish, of course. Nothing that would harm the Queen.”

“That’s not what I was concerned about.” James says, even though yes, it was partly what he was concerned about. “There are unstable governments out there that don’t quite play by fair rules.”

“Yes I know,” Q sniffs and pulls away from James, “And that’s why I turn them away. Have you not been listening?”

“I’m just trying to look out for you.” James lowers his hand that was around Q’s waist a moment ago.

“I don’t need you to look out for me.” Q says, and he sounds annoyed. The starts walking around and getting dressed, “I need to leave.”

“You can’t go back to your apartment by yourself.” James starts putting on his shirt as well, “I’ll go with you.”

“No, I think not.” Q stops and looks at him sternly, “And I’m not going back to my apartment, so don’t fret so much.”

“I’m not - ” James runs his hand through his hair in frustration, “Q, don’t be like this.”

“Like what?” Q throws James one of the most icy looks he’s ever received. 

“You’re being difficult.” James says, and if he was able to say anything dejectedly, then this is what he would have sounded like.

“I’m being difficult?” Q’s voice drops so low that James has to strain to hear him. “My apartment is being torn apart, I’m nearly late for work, and you are being overbearing and controlling. So I think you will excuse me if I’m being difficult.”

For the next minute neither of them says anything. Q continues getting dressed and doesn’t look at James at all. James stands there not being able to take his eyes off of the fuming young man. 

“Is this because we had sex?” James follows Q to the front door and asks just as Q is opening the door.

“Excuse me?” Q holds the door open but turns around to look at James with one eyebrow raised.

“Look,” James puts up his hands and grimaces, “It’s happened before where after sex a person likes to think the relationship has completely changed, and that’s fine. We should just talk about this, right?”

“Good day, Mr. Bond.” Q doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t slam the door and James doesn’t hear him storm off. But the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach tells the agent that Q is livid with him.

James groans and goes back into bed. The pillow still smells like Q and James thinks that if he can maybe stay there for a couple of minutes, the rising sense of panic will subside and he will at least be able to think clearly about his next moves.


	17. I doubt we’ll ever be good

When James walks into the café he knows he’s arrived during the lunch rush. He walks towards his usual table out of habit but stops midstride as he notices two people already sitting there. 

James recognizes their faces from somewhere inside MI6, which means he knows that they should know better than to take his table by now.

The one sitting facing the door spots him and an expression of pure panic comes over his face. His friend, a pretty brunette, having easily read his reaction, turns around and looks at James. A similar expression quickly overtakes her as well.

“I… he said we could have this table…” The male stammers out, gesturing towards the kitchen, “I’m sorry, we can move.”

“No need.” James frowns as he looks towards the kitchen. He knows the other man was referring to Q, and he knows Q must have by now known that he has arrived. Yet there’s still no sign of the young man.

James walks to a table in the corner (small, next to a plant, meant for one person and the only one unoccupied at the moment) and sits down. For lack of other things to do he pulls out his phone and starts tweaking the various alarms and settings on screen brightness.

“You have to order online beforehand to get served during lunch.” Somebody says from the next table says, obviously meant for the benefit of James, “Otherwise he won’t serve you food until after 1 and it’ll be a set menu.”

James nods, but doesn’t look up from his phone.

“It’s such a nice little place. I only discovered it a couple of days ago.” The voice continues. Out of principle James finds himself detesting the person who is speaking, “Of course, if you’re not too hungry the food is definitely worth the wait, even if you haven’t ordered online yet.”

“I know. Thank you.” James grits the words out and restrains himself from saying that he knows the owner rather intimately and the other man should take his advice to somebody who gives a damn.

James all but senses Q stepping out of the kitchen, and can’t help but smile as the young man walks towards him carrying a plate of food. James understands that things may still be rough between the two of them, but he doubts it’s something that won’t blow over.

His smile vanishes when Q sets the plate down for the man at the table next to him (the annoying one who had tried to offer advice), and turns to leave without even sparing him a look.

“Excuse me, sir.” The man says, and Q pauses to turn around. “This gentleman here must have not known to order beforehand, and he looks rather peeved. Perhaps you could give him a salad or something to tide him over till 1?”

Under normal circumstances James would have categorized the man as simply being nice (and of course the fact that he’s a jolly-looking man with an open face in his mid-fifties would help him in his assessment), but due to the rather peculiar circumstances that James has found himself to be in, he really has no patience for the man’s meddling.

“I’m sure if he’s hungry he can find another restaurant, perhaps one more deserving of his attention.” Q says, and gives the old man a polite nod.

“I don’t want another restaurant.” James is 90% certain that they’re not talking about restaurants. Yet no matter what the topic of their (rather one-sided) conversation was, Q does not seem to be willing to engage, and simply turns to return to the kitchen.

“He’s usually not this standoffish, you know.” The old man shrugs at James, “But I suppose it’s been a busy day for him. Would you like some of my bread?”

James ignores him and stands up to follow Q to the kitchen.

“Now now, young man,” The old man calls out behind him, “Don’t you be starting any trouble.”  
James is sure that all the MI6 employees in the café (about 95% of the people there) are snickering behind their hands. He ignores them for now but makes a mental note of the faces he recognizes.

“I’m just going to go look for a bite of food.” James says without slowing down, “No trouble at all.”

He steps into the kitchen to see Q laboring over the stove. Whether or not the young man notices James enter seem not to be a factoring affecting his behavior as he continues to observe whatever he is cooking in a Dutch oven.

“I don’t understand what I’ve done to make you so cross with me.” James says. He stands a respectable distance away from Q so as not to crowd him, but far enough into the kitchen that Q should know he’s determined to stay until the issue is resolved.

“Mr. Bond,” Q turns and gives him a look enough to wither any man’s resolve (any man but James, apparently), “My apartment has been torn apart this morning and I have yet figured out how to deal with it, I’m backed up on 5 lunch orders and somehow food delivery has interpreted “parsnip” as ‘turnip’ so I have to make complete adjustments to my menu today and tomorrow. I really don’t have the time or the energy to deal with you right now.”

“Fine, then I’ll just talk, and you can listen.” James says. 

Q turns back to the stove, stirs a pot of what could only soup, and then turns to start chopping turnip furiously. There is no sign that shows acknowledgement of what James has said, but there are no signs of outright protest so James decides to continue.

“I’ve been married once, when I was young. She died about 10 minutes after the wedding as we were driving away from the church.”* James starts and decides he’s going to be more comfortable leaning against a wall than standing upright, “I was in love with a woman not so long ago, I gave her everything, I gave her my life, and the power to change my life. She betrayed me, which I would have forgiven her for I think, and I did, but she died too, before I had a chance to tell her that. There was a woman who was like a mother to me, more than a mother. My parents died when I was young, and honestly I don’t remember much except they made me happy. But I digress, the woman who was like a mother to me, she died too. Just a couple of months ago, she died in my arms and I couldn’t do anything to save her.”

James stops here and takes a deep breath. There are probably psychologists in MI6 who would pay their weight in gold to be in this room right now, but James doesn’t care about any of that. He just wants to convey his point.

“I don’t think I should be happy. That is, I don’t think I deserve it. I’ve seen so many deaths and I’ve been the cause of so many deaths, so much unhappiness, that to be honest I think it’s only fair that all my sources of happiness should be taken away from me.” Q has stopped chopping now, he’s listening even though he’s still turned away from James, but James (for all his powers of observation) doesn’t even notice, “But I want to be. Happy, that is. I want to be happy. I feel guilty about that too, sometimes. It’s so rare for me to experience happiness now. I’m content for the most part, I’m not unhappy. But true happiness, the kind that lifts you and makes you feel ten years younger, it just doesn’t happen anymore no matter how much I want it.”

“Then I met you, and I couldn’t bear to be unhappy, couldn’t even imagine going back to the way I was living. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this type of incandescent happiness that I don’t know if I can go back to living without it. Without you.” James exhales slowly and runs his hand through his hair. He doesn’t really remember the last time he’s spoken so much, and certainly not the last time he’s spoken so much about himself. “That’s all I have to say. You don’t have to react to it. I just wanted you to know the reasons behind my actions. They don’t have to make a difference.”

Q turns around and looks at him for a good minute. Neither of them move.

James doesn’t know what he was expecting Q’s reaction to be. A part of him had imagined tears would be involved, or some kind of declaration of love perhaps. A part of him was certain that Q would want nothing to do with somebody so encroaching and would simply end all ties between them. A tiny part of him was irrationally afraid that Q would vanish, disappear as he finishes his speech. A even tinier part was sure Q would, as he finishes his long rant about emotions and wants and needs, reveal that he’s working for some enemy organization, as has apparently been a pattern of his romantic dalliances. 

Q turns around and pulls something out of his wallet. He writes for a brief moment, then walks over to James to give him a note.

It’s an address.

“That’s my address.” Q says, and he turns to pick up something from the counter and hand to James as well (a sandwich wrapped up in and put in a bag), “go and see what you can salvage. There’s a collection of movies and books that I especially like. And a couple of notebooks, proper sized moleskins, black. My writing is in those and terrible as they are, I still want them. Pick them up and move them to your apartment, I’ll be staying with you for a while until I can find a new place that isn’t on the hit list of Laos.”

“The people were from Laos?” James asks dumbly, and realizes after the words have left his mouth that this was perhaps the most irrelevant question he could have asked given the circumstances.

“Yes.” Q makes a face that is half exasperation and half amusement, he steps forward and presses a kiss to James’s lips, “Go now, secret agent man, and make yourself useful.”

“Are we alright, then?” James asks, clutching the paper as if it were the golden ticket to Wonka’s factory, “We’re good?”

“I doubt we’ll ever be good, Mr. Bond.” Q smirks, “But yes, I think we’re alright for now. For what we are.”

“I’ll be back after.” James smiles, and loosens the grip he has had on the sandwich (which he shall discover later that he has damaged incontrovertibly, but the lack of structure didn’t affect the taste at all).

As he’s walking out, the old man at the table next to him gives him a cheerful wave, “Gave you some food, did he?”

“And something better.” James says with his trademark smirk and offers a polite nod (because James Bond does not wave, and especially not when he’s carrying a sandwich bag in his hands).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think for some this may seem a bit out of character for Bond. Too much talking and it goes against the silent/mysterious/emotions all bottled up typecast he's set for himself. The thing is, I like to think that he does not talk about these things because he hasn't ever had an equal to talk to. Not with M, where she was a maternal/superior figure and he tried very hard not to show weaknesses and to make her proud. And not with Vesper because I don't think he ever saw them as equals, but more that he had to protect her. With Q, it's very easy to see them in a relationship where they are indeed equal, and in my mind of course Q recognizes this and that's why he concedes so easily.
> 
> * Note on James being married. James Bond was married to Tracy in the movie (and book, for those of you who have read Fleming) On Her Majesty's Secret Service.


	18. “You’re like a housewife.”

Q calls James on his phone and says “I’m downstairs” instead of buzzing James’s apartment. James doesn’t mind and takes the stairs (it’s faster than the elevator) to open the front door for Q. 

The agent spent most of the afternoon moving and organizing his apartment to fit Q’s things (there aren’t a lot, but James took the liberty to replace some of the things that had been destroyed, like the standing desk and the quirky lamp that James finally tracked down at an antique shop). He called a couple of hours ago to the café to let Q know that there’s work he’s doing and won’t be heading back to the café that afternoon, and Q should just come straight back after work.

Q steps into the apartment and freezes at the door.

“It looks different.” He says cautiously.

“I redecorated a little.” James shrugs and takes Q’s coat that the young man dropped on a heap to the floor and hangs it up by the door. 

“Good lord,” Q mutters, looking around, “You’re like a housewife.”

“I do believe that’s the first time in history a double-o has been described as such.” James says drily and pushes Q towards the living room.

“It’s nice.” Q says simply as he sits down on the couch. There’s a laptop sitting on the coffee table that he knows isn’t James’s. “What’s this?”

“Well they smashed your laptop good.” James sits down next to Q and kisses him on the cheek, “So I got you a new one.”

“It’s…” Q frowns and picks it up gingerly to look at it as if it would explode any second, “It’s nice. Thank you.”

“The guy at the store said it’s their best model,” James says almost petulantly as he senses the hesitant tone in Q’s voice.

“Oh yes, certainly.” Q nods and flashes James a reassuring smile, “I’ll have to make a few upgrades and…it’s fine, really. It’s much better than the one I started out with.”

“But worse than the one you had.” James concludes with a sigh.

“I like making personal upgrades to my things.” Q squeezes James’s hand, “It’s fine. It’ll take a bit of time, but it’ll be much better than the one I had when I’m done with it.”

“I have to go out tomorrow.” James says, “Shouldn’t be too long. Maybe a week.”

“Go out to where?” Q stops fidgeting with the laptop and turns to James suspiciously.

“Classified.” James smirks.

“Don’t even think about it.” Q scowls at the agent, “If you go into Laos I’m never speaking to you again.”

“It’s a mission. What do you want to me to do? Turn it down?” James laughs a little drily. “It’s an easy one, in and out in a week.”

“You requested this mission.” Q says with conviction.

“Does it matter? I have it. I’ll be back in a week.” James pulls Q into a hug. “It’ll be fine.”

“That’s what you said last time and the time before that just before you almost got yourself killed.” Q sighs and leans into the hug, “And I won’t be able to help this time you know, since my laptop isn’t up to date.”

“I’ll be alright.” James reassures Q by patting him softly. “A week. I promise.”

James comes back after three weeks. Without any serious injuries, thankfully. But to a concerned Q who quickly turns angry, yielding a chef’s knife in the kitchen of a rather empty café.

“You said a week!” This is the first thing Q says to James, he throws a piece of bread at James’s head that James dodges. The bread bounces harmlessly off the floor.

“Well I planned on a week, didn’t I?” James shrugs, “Sometimes terrorists don’t like following my plans.”

“You are impossible.” Q sets down the knife, which makes James feel marginally better. “I hate you.”

“I’ve missed you.” James says softly, “I would have come back sooner if I could. There was some trouble with the official part of the mission, that’s all. Nothing major.”

“And the unofficial part?” Q pulls back as James tries to kiss him. He looks at the agent skeptically.

“It’s taken care of. Nobody from Laos will bother you again.” James says and tucks on Q’s wrist to bring the young man closer.

“Thank you, I suppose.” Q rolls his eyes affectionately and allows himself to be thoroughly kissed, “Even though I never really asked for your help.”

“I didn’t do it for you, presumptuous, aren’t you?” James says as he runs his hand through Q’s hair. “It’s completely for my benefit.”

“For yours?” Q raises an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t want our apartment to be ransacked by the Laos militia, would I?” James whispers into Q’s ear.

“I didn’t realize we had an apartment.” Q feigns polite disinterest.

“We do. You’ve been living in it for the last couple of weeks.” James smiles indulgently, “I figure you’ve got all your things in there already, it would just be a hassle to move again.”

“How considerate of you.” Q smirks and turns to pick the knife and continue chopping, “And what if I don’t want it to be our apartment?”

“I don’t think that’s an option.” James takes two steps over and hugs Q from behind. “I’m afraid you’ve gotten in too deep with Britain’s intelligence now, and it’s too late for you to leave this business.”

“So I don’t really have a choice in this?” Q turns his head slightly to allow James a kiss on his cheek.

“Afraid not.”

“Well then…” Q concedes and pulls James into a deep kiss. “I guess I’ll see you at home later?”

“Yes.” James kisses him again before leaving the café to go debrief with Tanner. The extra two weeks of camping in the jungles of Laos and avoiding being poisoned by the indigenous insects all seems worth it in that moment.

And for the first time in a long time, James Bond is happy to finish a mission and looks forward to getting home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking with me through this. Sorry this too so long to finish up. I was debating between how to end things.
> 
> Thanks so much for all your comments, I really appreciate them, and everyone's been fantastic.
> 
> Thanks again for actually finishing the whole thing. It means the world to me.  
> (there may or may be an epilogue coming at some point, but don't count on it...)


	19. Epilogue - This is the end

The café across the street from MI6 stays open for 5 years 2 months and 8 days before closing. The owner locks up for the last time 2 days before agent 007 is due to come back to London from what eventually becomes his last mission.

The mission goes smoothly, as usual. People at MI6 have stopped questioning the deadly efficiency with which 007 carries out his missions. For some reason he seems to have the best luck of any secret agent in the world, and that has not changed over the years. There were some investigation to his external attachments, but there was nothing that raised alarms and eventually M declared that whatever it was that James has going on (there's no doubt that something is going on with the agent), it's better to just let it continue.

Until the day that he finishes his mission in Spain. (Does it seem ironic that Spain should be their last mission together? Yes. Q thinks there’s something to be said for coming full circle.) The agent is scheduled to return to London at 1800 hours, and the last anybody at MI6 hears from him is when he boards the plane.

Nobody foresees the revenge bomber who hides in the cargo hold of the plane (this of course, comes out only after the wreckage is recovered and meticulous investigation has been carried out). The plane goes down with no survivors. It seems that the explosion takes out everyone instantly in the air, as the (later recovered) black-box recording has the pilot saying to the co-pilot“Hey Mel, everything looks smooth. You take over, I’m going to go grab a cup of water.” 10 seconds later there is an unmistakable sound of an explosion, followed by dead silence.

Q thinks that there’s something to be said for James Bond dying in a plane crash, considering that he’s the one who’s always had the (not at all) irrational fear of flying.

There’s a funeral in MI6, as there always is. It’s semi-open, meaning that guests have to register when they enter and MI6 probably will at some point run a background check on everyone who doesn’t already work for them.

Nobody question Q’s presence there. A couple of his regulars (Bill, Eve, Mallory) nod to him in acknowledgement. He doesn’t speak to anyone, sits at the back corner and listens silently as strangers talk about what a great man Commander James Bond was, and how his sacrifice for his country will never be forgotten.

Q can’t help but think that James would find all this rather silly.

He leaves without saying goodbye to anyone and walks back to his apartment (the new one that James bought under his name a month and a half ago under Q’s real name).

The door is coded to his fingerprint, and slides open silently.

“How was it?” Asks the figure lounging on the sofa reading today’s paper.

“I’m sure you would have hated it.” Q replies and walks over to drop a kiss on (the supposedly dead) James’s cheek. “But other than that, it was quite splendid.”

“Did Eve cry?” James asks and shifts to make room for his lover.

“Not at the funeral. No.” Q rolls his eyes, “I still think you could have at least told her.”

“She would have blackmailed me into something.” James shrugs, “Plus she couldn’t have been that upset, I’m hardly the first agent to die in the field.”

“Do you think they’ll find out?” Q asks as he reaches out to turn on the television and snuggle deeper into James’s embrace.

“What? That I faked my death?” James strokes Q’s hair slowly, “Eventually, I’m sure. But it should buy us enough time to relax for a bit. And if we’re lucky by the time they find out they’ll get the message and not bother us.”

“I hardly think them bothering us is the problem.” Q smirks. They’ve had discussions about the possibility of James retiring, but they both acknowledged that it’s in James’s nature to do things and he could completely retire unless he cuts all ties from MI6, but MI6 would never allow James to do that. 

Eventually they had decided on the oldest play in the book: faking one’s own death. From there on it was simply a matter of planning and finding the right time for execution. 

“So when should we leave?” James asks, putting the paper down on to the coffee shop.

“Are you sure about this?” Q asks with a frown, “it’s not too late to stage another of your miraculous rise from the dead acts.”

“They’re not acts. And yes I’m sure.” James says with a scoff, “I didn’t spend the last months rebuilding Skyfall for nothing.”

“I don’t think we would be very suited to living in the country side.” Q says with a haughty sniff.

“I’ve made sure to hook up whatever high speed internet you need already, and we can get all your gadgets over there in the car.”

“I don’t think your car is big enough.” Q says with a sigh, but stands from the sofa even as he says so.

“Having second thoughts?” James asks.

“None at all.” Q says and takes James’s hand. He’s never been to Skyfall. James has made him stay away so that it’ll be a surprise. 

They leave the apartment furnished. Because they both know London is a home (perhaps in time it will turn into a second home). James takes the box down first filled with Q’s gadgets (only the essential ones, because Q knows he might as well have two sets in London and in Skyfall), and Q takes a final look around to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything.

He spares a glance to the pair of well-worn, plain cufflinks on the kitchen counter before closing the door and entering the code to activate the high security alarm system.

It would appear that this is the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may turn into a series.... There will be sporadic updates...

**Author's Note:**

> "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons" - T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock


End file.
